


never know how far we could fall

by thesunandthestars



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, also some violence?? which I did not plan on including, and jughead’s the best boyfriend in existence, and mentions of sexy fun times, bc this is riverdale, but there’s a buttload of fluff to even things out, by that I mean taking on way too much for someone who’s been through as much as she has, he loves his girl okay!!, idk man this fic kinda wrote itself, in which betty is betty, just a little post-s3 fix-it, like I wasn’t planning on sending jug to the hospital (again), my poor baby I’m sorry :(, poor betty :(, that seems to be a common occurrence, this turned out way more angsty than it was supposed to be whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-10 23:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20536646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesunandthestars/pseuds/thesunandthestars
Summary: “Am I gonna have to break the law for you, Betts?”Betty scoffs in reply, but it ends up sounding more like a laugh. “Of course not. I want the law on our side.”Edgar took everything away from her, and now she wants to do the same to him. (Nicely and fairly, though. No Dark Betty this time.) “I want to testify against Edgar. In court.”Jughead clicks his tongue softly in agreement, that familiar crooked grin sliding onto his lips. “I like the way you think.”It’s summer in Riverdale, a summer like any other—outings at the Sweetwater swimming hole, lunches at Pop’s, and lazy strolls around town. Everyone’s doing their best to forget about the events of the past two years. But there’s something lingering, something dark and mysterious. To put the last pieces of the puzzle in place, Betty arranges to testify against Edgar in court, hoping that it will tie up any loose ends. But, as the day of the trial looms closer, Betty finds that it was a lot more than she bargained for.[A post-s3 fix-it starring Betty, Jughead, and the rest of the Riverdale gang.]EDIT: 6th Bughead Fanfiction Awards Nominee - Under The Radar





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I’M BACK, Y’ALL! And this time I’ve got a little post-s3 fix-it to tide everyone over until season 4 (including myself.) This idea was actually a request I got a couple of months ago, so thanks Brian+Runyon for suggesting I write this! I had so much fun doing so. 
> 
> Title is from Tightrope from the Greatest Showman soundtrack. 
> 
> Read on, darlings! <3

**Part One**

It’s strange to sit in a booth at Pop’s, sip a milkshake, and not be working on the latest mystery. 

Betty likes to call this time Riverdale’s healing period, the lull between one mystery and another. (It’s kind of depressing that this has occurred enough times for her to give it a name.) It never lasts long, but it’s a relief when it comes around. That doesn’t mean it’s not difficult; sometimes the aftermath is just as painful as the hurricane. And she knows that the horrors are far from over—in fact, Betty isn’t sure if she’ll ever escape the kind of life she’s been living for the past two years, no matter where she is—but it gets a little easier every time. It’s a cycle, and Riverdale is working its way back up after months of being at the bottom. 

It’s been a week since it all happened—the final quest, the disappearance of the Farmies, and the return of Charles Smith. Betty’s moved back into her old house, where she falls asleep in Jughead’s arms every night. (She feels bad for waking him up occasionally from a nightmare, but she’d take his murmured words of comfort over waking up alone and frightened at the Pembrooke any day.) Everyone is returning to their normal jobs, their normal lives—at least, as normal as possible considering the circumstances. Nothing will ever return to the way it was, not really. But it’s much better than never climbing back up at all. Riverdale is recovering, slowly but surely, and Betty’s learned to appreciate the sense of normalcy that recovery brings. 

The only new mystery that’s come to Riverdale is what to do with Juniper and Dagwood. They’d both been living with Penelope after being rescued from the Farm’s clutches, but her absence means that a new home for the twins needs to be located, and fast. Betty had considered moving her niece and nephew to the Cooper-Jones house, but she and Jughead are still kids themselves and FP’s job requires the full of his attention. That arrangement just won’t work out. 

“I’ve told you, dear cousin, the twins are welcome at Thistlehouse,” Cheryl reminds Betty for the millionth time when they cross paths at Pop’s. “Nana Rose is elderly but not completely incompetent, and TT and moi are excellent babysitters.”

A heavy sigh escapes Betty’s lips. “I don’t doubt you’re excellent babysitters. But you need to keep an eye on kids their age, and you two are both busy this summer.” Cheryl’s doing an internship of sorts to spice up her college applications and Toni’s forgiven Jughead and the Serpents enough to regularly help out with whatever they’ve got going on. 

“That’s where Nana Rose comes in,” Cheryl points out, shaking her head like Betty’s not listening to a word she’s saying. “She is perfectly capable of tending to the twins when my dear TT and I have our hands full.” Her hand lands on her hip like she’s daring Betty to argue with her, pinning Betty with one of her signature no-nonsense looks. (Sometimes, Betty wonders if that look ever _doesn’t_ convince someone, because it seems like it always does. Now is no exception.)

“Fine.” Betty’s honestly not really concerned about this arrangement and she’s tired of worrying about what to do with the twins, so when Cheryl stops by in the afternoon to pick up the twins, Betty parts ways with her niece and nephew with nothing more than a kiss on the forehead for both of them. Cheryl promises to update Betty regularly, and she does, sending Betty photos of the twins—sleeping side by side in the elaborate crib that was purchased for them, wide awake and giggling in Toni’s arms, smiling up at the camera as they’re pushed down the street in a stroller. They’re obviously doing well in Cheryl and Toni’s care (with the help of Nana Rose, of course), but Betty can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. They’re her sister’s kids. Those kids are Coopers, and as the last Cooper capable of taking them in Betty feels like she’s responsible to do so. But they’re also Blossoms, fiery red hair and all. They’re Cheryl’s niece and nephew too, and she actually has the resources to give them a good home. The knowledge eases Betty’s guilt just a touch.

But she’s still worrying about it days later—thanks a lot, anxiety—and she refuses to talk about it. They’re _fine_. The twins are fine, and there’s no reason she should be so anxious about their situation. Handing them over to Cheryl only made her concern grow, Betty laments, and it’s not even for a good reason. Cheryl’s more than capable, and she has help from Toni and Nana Rose. The twins are fine, she repeats to herself. They’re fine, they’re fine, they’re fine, they’re—

“C’mere,” Jughead mutters, tugging Betty even closer to his chest. She’d thought he was asleep, his breath soft and even against her temple, but it’s evident he’s not as he presses a kiss against her hair and pulls back to look at her. Betty stares stubbornly at the ceiling for a beat, but when Jughead sighs and gently turns her chin toward him, she complies and looks him in the eye. Even half-asleep, his gaze is intense. “What’s on your mind?”

Betty has a feeling that he already knows what her answer will be, but he waits for her to respond if she chooses. (It’s one of the things she admires most about him, actually—his patience with her. He hardly, if ever, pushes her to say or do something she doesn’t want to. It extends to her anxiety, her nightmares—if she doesn’t want to talk about it he doesn’t push it, and if she decides she _is_ ready to talk about it, he listens.) “It’s the twins,” she admits finally. His eyes soften in understanding, but he doesn’t move to comfort her just yet. She knows it’s because he can tell she isn’t finished. “I know it’s stupid to worry about them, because Cheryl and Toni have everything under control, but I think I feel guilty. I don’t know. I’m supposed to take care of them. They’re my niece and nephew, my sister’s kids, and I’m responsible for taking care of them if she can’t.”

Everything comes out in a rush, as it always does when she’s talking to Jughead. It’s easy to talk to him, with his soft, imploring blue eyes and his thumb tracing invisible patterns over her jaw. “It’s not stupid,” he promises, and she believes him when he says it, looking at her like that. “If JB had kids that she couldn’t take care of, I’d feel responsible too. But we’re just kids, Betty. We can’t do it all. You hold the weight of the world on your shoulders sometimes, Betts, but you don’t have to. Not about this. Juniper and Dagwood—” he grimaces a little when the names leave his lips, and Betty giggles despite herself “—are fine. They’re great. Worry about yourself, Betty Cooper.” He punctuates his statement with a kiss stamped to her forehead, and Betty can’t help the smile that sneaks onto her lips. 

Jughead’s words never fail to bring her at least a bit of comfort, and this time is no exception—Betty finds that within minutes she’s dozing off, tucked into her boyfriend’s embrace and mind relatively at rest for the first time in a while. 

She’d made a promise to her best friends in that booth at Pop’s that their senior years are going to be normal, and she’s determined to keep that promise to the best of her ability, so the next day Betty starts to rebuild. Now that she’s officially moved back into her childhood home, Betty flits around the house fluffing up pillows and clearing tables of old glasses and doing other mundane things she hasn’t done in what feels like ages. She almost starts crying when she steps back from the washing machine and hears that satisfying _click_ that signifies the beginning of the cycle—it feels so good to do simple things like this again. And it’s even better doing these things with Jughead. It’s terribly domestic and she loves it, loves washing the dishes as Jughead rinses and loves the look on FP’s face when he comes home to a warm dinner prepared by his son and his son’s girlfriend. It’s such a relief to be doing something _normal_—or abnormal, really, since mystery and murder are their normal now. It’s a relief to just be a normal seventeen-year-old doing laundry and dishes and yard work (and Jughead—they’ve got plenty of time to fool around), even if there’s still so much looming over her head. After all, it’s not like Betty can forget that her mom and sister are MIA and there’s an FBI agent hanging out at her house who happens to be her long-lost half-brother. 

He’s not _living_ at her house—she doesn’t know where he’s staying, actually—but he might as well be. Charles is there when she walks into the kitchen for breakfast in the morning and there when she ascends the stairs for bed at night. It’s like he’s her bodyguard—when she’s home, so is he; when she’s at Pop’s with her friends, he’s always in sight; when she’s at Veronica’s or Archie’s, Charles is there in the shadows. It’s honestly kind of creepy, but it’s definitely not the strangest thing that’s happened to Betty, and Charles is a pleasant person. (She’s thought about trying to get to know her half-brother, if she’s being honest, but without Alice here to push the idea, it never really happens.) The rest of the inhabitants of Riverdale don’t seem to mind his presence either—they’ve all seen weirder shit in the past two years. 

Weirder shit than a visit from the FBI has happened over the past two years, but for now, Riverdale is a completely normal small town in The Middle Of Nowhere, New York with completely normal small-town happenings. At least on the outside. The people in Riverdale all know what went down with Jason Blossom and the Black Hood and the Gargoyle King, but this is the point in which everyone pretends that these things never happened. They go about life like there was never a boy murdered by his own father or a serial killer whose targets included children. Someone from the outside would never guess that these things happened here in “the town with pep”, but they did. They did, and no one in Riverdale will ever be able to forget. Not really. 

But they can pretend, and so they do. Kids head to their friends’ houses in the mornings, neighbors make idle chatter in the afternoons, and families eat dinner together in the evenings. It’s all just one big game of make-believe that everyone is playing, and it’s equal parts unsettling and comforting. 

But if that’s what it takes to be normal, to keep the town from spiraling into darkness once again, then Betty is all for that. 

-

_Normal_, Betty finds, is sitting cross-legged on Veronica Lodge’s luxurious bed, idly flipping through a magazine with one hand while Veronica carefully applies Mint Candy Apple nail polish to the other. The magazine is really not all that interesting—Betty hasn’t ever really been a magazine type of girl—but it’s nice to hang out with her best girl friend, painting each other’s nails and gossiping and the like. It feels blissfully normal, like something Betty would’ve done every Saturday afternoon if Jason Blossom’s death hadn’t occurred, catapulting Riverdale into the world of mystery and murder. 

“I like that color on you,” Veronica declares, capping the nail polish bottle and pausing for a beat to admire her handiwork. “Want me to do your toes too?”

“Sure,” Betty answers, shifting to place her feet in Veronica’s lap. Her phone lights up and she leans over to check it, half-expecting to see her mother’s name in bold at the top of the message. It’s not Alice, of course. (The realization that Betty won’t be receiving the typical _Where are you?_ messages from her mother for the foreseeable future is a slap across the face. Her mother is gone, and Betty has no idea if she’ll ever see her again. But she clenches her teeth and tries not to think about that.) The message is from Jughead, and it reads, _Archie and I are at Pop’s, if you and Veronica want to stop by._

_She’s painting my nails rn but maybe in a bit_, she replies, tapping at the screen carefully to avoid disturbing her still-drying nail polish. _One sec._ “Hey, V?” she asks, and Veronica pauses her task to look up, nail polish brush hovering above Betty’s big toe. “Archie and Jug are at Pop’s, wanna head over there?”

“Of course!” is Veronica’s reply. “It’ll be just like old times. But first,” she adds, holding up a finger, “you have to do my nails too.”

“Deal,” Betty says, picking her phone back up and typing out a reply to Jughead: _We’ll be there in about 30 mins._

But Veronica Lodge is always fashionably late, as Betty knows by now, so forty-three minutes later the bell rings as the girls enter Pop’s. (Veronica no longer has a driver to take her places, now that her parents are both incarcerated, and Betty left the station wagon at home, so walking was their only option.) Betty follows Veronica into the diner, one of the only places in town that can make Betty forget all that’s happened, if only for a little while. 

“B and V have arrived!” Veronica announces as she slides into the booth next to Archie, leaning over to take a sip of her boyfriend’s chocolate shake. Betty slips in next to Jughead, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting, and he slings an arm over her shoulders to pull her close. 

“So, how was your girls’ day?” Jughead inquires, tossing a fry into his mouth. Betty does the same, snatching one off Jughead’s plate and pretending to be oblivious when Jughead fake-glares at her. His mouth stretches into an almost-smile at her antics, and it’s the one Betty first saw on the day she recommended he play _Rebel Without A Cause_ for the Twilight Drive-In’s last night. (Not that she hasn’t seen it since. Jughead’s smiles are becoming more and more common, especially when Betty’s on the receiving end.)

Veronica wiggles her newly painted fingernails in lieu of a reply, showing off her deep purple nails. (It’s a color called Hazy Daze, if Betty remembers correctly.) “We did each other’s nails and chatted. It was fun,” she says, shooting Betty the more sincere version of her Veronica Lodge smile, a version that’s reserved for Betty and Archie (and sometimes Jughead, on a good day.) “Normal.”

There it is again. Normal. It’s the first time anyone has vocalized the idea, but definitely not the first time Betty’s thought about it. It’s a concept she isn’t so used to anymore, but one that she hopes she can relearn. It would be a relief to be normal again, to do homework and gossip and talk about boys. (Or maybe just one boy in particular.) To hang out with her best friends in their favorite booth at Pop’s and just be normal seventeen-year-olds. And sure, normal is boring, but if the people who say that had been through hell and back like Betty has, they’d probably change their mind. 

“You did each other’s nails and chatted?” Jughead parrots, mouth quirking ever so slightly. “Veronica Lodge, are you _trying_ to turn our lives into a 2000s chick flick?”

_This_ is normal, Betty realizes as Veronica plucks a fry off of Jughead’s plate and throws it at him in retaliation, Jughead promptly picking it up and popping it into his mouth as Archie laughs that full-bodied laugh Betty has missed so much. She was wrong before. Normal isn’t painting nails and reading magazines, though that was a fun experience. It’s sitting at a booth at Pop’s with her best friends, sipping milkshakes and throwing fries and laughing. Being kids just like they’re supposed to. 

This is normal, and normal is a relief. 

-

Betty’s practically floating as she and Jughead stroll hand-in-hand down the sidewalk, high on the memories of her friends’ laughter and Jughead’s arm around her shoulders. It’s been so long since they were able to do that, to hang out in a booth at Pop’s, laughing and teasing and just _being_. (The day after Penelope’s quest doesn’t count; they were all too shaken up to really enjoy each other’s company.) And it’s a good feeling, one that Betty enjoys as she walks down the street and up the front steps of the Cooper-Jones house, Jughead’s hand warm and comforting in her own.

But she comes crashing down to earth in an instant when the front door swings open and Alice Cooper is standing right there in the doorway. 

Betty’s frozen on the spot for a solid ten seconds, hardly even breathing, even after her mother beckons for Betty and Jughead to follow her as she heads into the living room. “Close the door behind you, Betty,” comes her mother’s request. (If she wasn’t frozen solid, Betty would’ve cried out in relief at how Alice-like the words are.)

Jughead presses his fingers to her elbow in the gentlest of touches, a gesture Betty’s become accustomed to. It works somewhat like a grounding technique, helping to anchor Betty to the here and now and keep her mind from spiraling. But right now, it’s not working very well—the complexity of the situation is just too great. Her mother is here, safe, and out of the Farm’s clutches. She’s been assisting the FBI in taking down the Farm, getting close to its leader in order to destroy him. She’s been a spy for _the FBI_ this entire time, and everything she said and did was to maintain her cover. All the stress and grief she caused Betty, fretting over her cult-obsessed mother? It was all for a cover. All the ways she hurt Betty, _betrayed_ her—can Betty forgive her for all of that? She knows she should, she’s supposed to, but she can’t. Not yet, at least. 

But she’s disgusted with herself for thinking that as she watches her mother’s eyes fill with tears. What kind of a person is she? What kind of a _daughter_ is she, to refuse to give her own mother a second chance? To let her mother tell her side of the story, and then find it in her heart to forgive?

(Then again, her mother _hurt_ her. Is it so wrong to be wary of this sudden excuse for all her actions, of the slate being cleaned just like that?)

“Mom,” she chokes out, voice cracking on that simple word, and Betty collapses into her mother’s arms. No matter how complex her feelings are at the moment, she admits it’s good to be in Alice’s embrace, the woman who, despite all her faults, loves Betty with everything that she is. She might not always choose Betty’s side, but that doesn’t mean the love she feels for her daughter is any less valid. (Everything Alice does is for her daughters, Betty knows. Even sending the two of them to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. Betty knows that her mother honestly believed her daughters would be safer there than in Riverdale, which explains Alice’s justification when Betty was dragged away: “Because I love you, Elizabeth.”)

“Oh, Betty,” Alice is saying, stroking her daughter’s hair. It’s something she hasn’t done since Betty and Polly were little, and if Betty wasn’t too emotionally drained to cry, she would be bawling. 

As soon as Polly pops up into her thoughts Betty pulls back from her mother’s arms with a gasp. “Polly!” she exclaims, scanning the couch for any sign of her older sister. Charles is there, but her sister is not. “Where’s Polly?”

Her mother’s mouth is set in a hard line, the way it always is when she’s about to say something she knows Betty won’t like. “She’s fine, Betty. I…she’s healing.”

God, she hates it when Alice does that. Softens the blow like Betty’s going to break if she doesn’t. “Mom,” she warns, jaw clenching. Jughead’s been standing in the doorway, giving Betty room, but at the hardness in Betty’s tone he steps forward to slip a hand into hers. She knows it’s a reminder to keep her from digging her nails into her palms, and frankly, she’s glad for it. It works. “Mom,” she repeats, but Alice is avoiding her gaze, eyes glassy with tears. “Don’t do this. Don’t—”

“Your sister is being taken care of,” Charles pipes up. Betty doesn’t miss the way he says your sister—maybe it was on purpose, maybe not. Maybe he’s still not used to having a family. “She’s in good hands. I promise.”

Oh my God. “But where is she? _Where is my sister_?” She hates that there are tears trailing down her cheeks. Polly was _horrible_ to her. She lied to her, and it was the worst kind of lie—the kind that had no purpose but to break Betty. She _broke_ Betty. But Polly’s her sister, and Betty can’t help it. She’s still got some of that good girl left in her, it seems. 

“She’s at a care facility, Betty!” Alice’s mascara runs in dark streaks down her face. “Is that what you want to hear? She’s sick. Polly is _sick_.” Her voice breaks on the last word. (Betty’s heard that from her mother before, but this time she knows it’s true.) It’s the only warning before Alice’s knees buckle underneath her, Betty launching forward to catch her. They sink to the ground, Alice sobbing into her daughter’s shoulder and Betty squeezing her eyes shut against her tears. 

Betty counts thirty-two long seconds before Alice whispers, “Okay,” with a sniffle and pulls away. She wipes her cheeks of any evidence of her pain and in an instant, the unflappable Alice Cooper returns, head held high and faux smile turning up the corners of her lips. “Charles and I were just discussing some logistics. Go on,” she says, nodding at the stairs. 

But Betty still has so many questions. “Where _were_ you, Mom? How did you get away? Where’s Edgar? Is he—”

“Elizabeth.” It’s a warning. “Not right now. Go upstairs, both of you,” she adds, eyeing Jughead. Betty allows herself a loud sigh (one that’s maybe a touch too dramatic) and starts for the stairs. 

“Some things never change,” Jughead mutters once the door to Betty’s (technically _their_) room is shut and they’re out of earshot from Alice. “Undercover at a cult for months and she’s still the same Alice Cooper she’s always been—terrifyingly capable of shifting her moods in the blink of an eye.”

But Betty’s not thinking about her mother right now. She’s thinking about her sister, who’s once again been shipped away to _heal_. How is Betty supposed to know if Polly is _actually_ safe? What if the place Polly’s at is just another Sisters of Quiet Mercy? “She’s at a mental hospital, Jug. That’s what it is. And it’s because of Edgar.” The name tastes bitter in her mouth. This time the tears that are welling up in her eyes are more of the angry variety. “He did this to her, and he needs to pay.”

There’s no mistaking the way Jughead’s eyebrows furrow at that statement, but before Betty can assure him she doesn’t mean anything insane or illegal, he asks, “And how do you propose we do that?” He’s perched on the edge of the bed, and with those words he leans forward, elbows resting on his thighs and chin resting atop his closed fist. A sliver of a smile peeks out from the corner of his lips. “Am I gonna have to break the law for you, Betts?”

Betty scoffs in reply, but it ends up sounding more like a laugh. “Of course not. I want the law on our side.” 

Edgar took everything away from her, and now she wants to do the same to him. (Nicely and fairly, though. No Dark Betty this time.) “I want to testify against Edgar. In court.”

Jughead clicks his tongue softly in agreement, that familiar crooked grin sliding onto his lips. “I like the way you think.”

-

Polly’s twins are by far the cutest babies Cheryl has ever seen. 

They whine and they cry, of course, waking up the entire house in the wee hours of the morning. They’re high maintenance, like any babies—they’re constantly hungry or uncomfortable or bored. They require a lot of attention, what with the constant watch one must keep on them or the seemingly endless diaper changes. And there are two of them, which makes it much more difficult. Take everything you need to do to raise a child and then multiply it by two—that’s what Cheryl has to deal with every day. 

But she wouldn’t trade it for the world. Juniper and Dagwood (as hideous as their names may be) are sweet and oh-so-cute, what with their chubby little cheeks and perfect red curls. When they’re happy they coo and giggle, feet and hands wiggling in the air. Cheryl’s not heartless enough to be immune to _that_. Plus, she’s not alone in taking care of them. She’s got Toni to help her and her nana to watch the twins while the girls are busy doing other things. (It’s usually each other.) The three of them make excellent long-term babysitters, she knows. What can she say? She’s just got natural talent for dealing with tiny humans with toes the size of peas and vocal cords that produce noises strong enough to shatter glass. 

And even though Cheryl definitely isn’t Polly’s biggest fan (by now, she’s heard all about the lies Polly fed Betty while at the Farm), Polly’s twins are Cheryl’s latest obsession. (Not in a weird way. A normal, loving, aunt-ly obsession.) They’re her niece and nephew, after all. They’re the next generation of Blossoms, the only ones who haven’t spent a lifetime under the thumb of the wicked Clifford Blossom and his equally venomous wife. They’re a chance at a fresh start, and Cheryl knows better than to let a chance like that slip through her perfectly manicured fingers.

Juniper is babbling and waving her little fists around as Dagwood watches, the two of them cuddled up in their cradle. The twins refuse to be separated for long—they bathe together, they eat together, and they sleep curled up with one another. It occurs to Cheryl that’s exactly what she and Jason were like as babies—two little bundles of baby fat and red curls. Two peas in a pod. Inseparable. 

Until her father tied Jason up in the basement of a biker bar and shot him in the forehead. 

“Hey, babe?” There’s a flash of pink in the corner of her vision, and Cheryl glances up, red lips curling into a grin at the sight of her girlfriend. Toni holds up Cheryl’s phone, the screen turned toward its owner, and even from a distance Cheryl can see that there’s a call in progress. “I heard your phone ringing in the other room, so I picked up. It’s Betty—she says it’s important.”

Cocking a single eyebrow, Cheryl retrieves her phone from Toni and holds it up to her ear. “Cousin Betty! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Cheryl, hey. I have a question for you.” There’s a bit of shuffling at the other end, and Cheryl imagines Betty taking a seat on a sofa or at the dining room table to take the call. “It’s more of a request, actually.”

_Request_ is code for _favor_, she knows. Cheryl isn’t in the habit of doing favors, but she likes Betty and besides, she’s family. (Not that _family_ really means anything anymore after her parents’ multiple betrayals. But Betty’s part of Cheryl’s new family, her _real_ family, and it has nothing to do with the blood they share.) “Fire away, my dear cousin.” 

Betty’s sigh is loud and clear in Cheryl’s ear despite their distance. (Cheryl’s assuming it’s more of an I’m-relieved-to-get-this-off-my-chest sigh than an exasperated one.) “I’m trying to set up a time to testify against Edgar in court. Nothing’s final yet, but I would really appreciate your help. Would…would you be willing to testify with me? Toni too, if she’s up for it.” The hopefulness is evident in Betty’s voice as she adds, “I need your help, Cheryl.”

“Anything to put those Farm baboons in their place,” Cheryl concedes. She’s loving this already. After all, revenge is a Cheryl Blossom specialty. “But how are you going to get Edgar to agree to this? Do you even know where he is?”

“Charl-my brother told me that he’s around,” Betty replies. (Right. The FBI agent that showed up on Betty’s doorstep a week ago is her half-brother. What a small world.) “Like I said, I don’t know the details yet, but it would really help to have you and Toni testifying with me. You two have a lot more insider information about the Farm than I do.”

It’s true. Though Betty hung out at the Farm quite often in hopes of uncovering whatever schemes she was sure they were cooking up, Cheryl and Toni had full access to all that the Farm had to offer. Except for the freezer full of organs, obviously. “Whatever you need. And don’t worry, I’m sure Toni would love to help,” she adds, glancing at her girlfriend, whose eyebrow shoots up curiously at the mention of her name. 

“Thank you,” Betty gushes, her relieved sigh audible even through the phone. “I’ll call you back when I get more information.”

“Alright.” Cheryl’s lips curl into a smile even though she knows Betty can’t see it. “Ta-ta for now, dearest cousin.”

“Wait!” Betty blurts as Cheryl’s pulling the phone away from her ear. “Before you hang up, I have another question.”

_Oh?_ This time it’s Cheryl’s turn to raise an eyebrow, and the words are out of her mouth before she can even think about it: “Another request, you mean?”

“No, I just…” There’s a sigh from Betty’s end—or at least that’s what Cheryl assumes the noise is. It could have been a laugh. “How are the twins?”

Cheryl turns to observe Juniper and Dagwood, the former still gurgling in typical one-year-old fashion and the latter seemingly lost in thought as his big green eyes explore the wall to the right of Cheryl. “Spectacular,” she answers after a beat, hoping Betty didn’t take her hesitation the wrong way. (She does seem to be a little paranoid when it comes to her sister’s kids. Scratch that, a _lot_ paranoid.) “They’re currently enjoying some down time in their cradle. Honestly Betty, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I know.” She doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but that’s not Cheryl’s problem. “Really, I just...I’m a little too overprotective of them, I guess.”

Cheryl’s not sure how to respond to that. She’s never really felt protective of her family before, besides maybe Jason and Nana Rose, but she thinks she might kind of get how Betty is feeling about the twins. She feels somewhat of a responsibility for them as well. “Well, if that’s all,  
I really should be going.” She doesn’t have anything to do, but now that Edgar is on her mind again Cheryl’s thinking about breaking out her bow and pretending that her red and white target is the face of that nauseating, organ-stealing—

“Okay,” comes Betty’s reply, bringing Cheryl out of her (possibly murderous) thoughts. “Thanks again, for agreeing to testify and for taking care of the twins. It means a lot.”

“Of course,” Cheryl says absentmindedly, slightly concerned that the same behavior from Betty she was so repulsed by just a year ago she now finds endearing. (Maybe she’s getting soft.) Serpent queen or no, Betty Cooper just can’t shake the well-meaning girl she was raised to be. “Unless you have any more requests…”

“I don’t,” Betty promises, and Cheryl can hear the smile in her voice. “Bye, Cheryl.”

The call ends, and Toni, who had been standing in the doorway to give Cheryl a bit of privacy while on the phone, comes to sit next to her girlfriend on the loveseat. Cheryl’s arm immediately circles around Toni to pull her closer, and the pink-haired girl wastes no time asking with a playful tone, “So what did you volunteer me for?”

Cheryl’s mouth quirks at Toni’s teasing. “Betty’s requested our help in testifying against Edgar and the Farm,” she explains. “As much as I’d love to pull out my bow and hunting cape and give Edgar a piece of my mind _that_ way, Betty’s gone all Elle Woods, ‘let’s work it out in court’, so that’s the way it’s going to be.”

Toni shrugs, already convinced by Betty’s plan. (She’s always up for a challenge.) “Count me in,” she says, a smile playing on her lips. “I’m always up for a good smackdown.”

“A smackdown à la Betty Cooper,” Cheryl muses. She has to admit, it sounds like quite a fun idea. Betty’s determination is relentless—plus, she’s got some fire in her, believe it or not. Cheryl may be the HBIC, the girl who burned her own house down and isn’t afraid to do it again, but when Betty’s passionate about something, every ounce of her energy is poured into it. Cheryl’s seen it in action a few times before, and it’s certainly something. 

Juniper babbles again, drawing Cheryl’s attention to the twins once more, and even though Cheryl’s not one for baby-talk, she leans over the cradle and coos, “Don’t forget to take after your aunts. Both of them. Betty Cooper is a hell of a person, you know.”

Cheryl’s not surprised to find that she means it. 

-

Betty’s not sure if she’s imagining the crash that echoes through the house as she lays frozen in bed, heart pounding in her ears. It sounded a lot like glass shattering, which is not a good sign, and it was _loud_, which is an even worse sign. 

“What was that?” comes Jughead’s groggy voice from somewhere above her (it ends up sounding more like _Whassat_?), and she can feel the bed shift as he moves to prop himself up on one elbow. The alarm in his eyes is evident even in the darkness and despite his obvious exhaustion. 

“I dunno,” is Betty’s reply. She’s paralyzed, holding her breath. A hundred possible scenarios run through her head: Edgar is downstairs, or Polly, or her father back from the dead—

“Should we…” Jughead trails off, waiting for Betty to make the next move, to decide if they go investigate or stay in bed. To be honest, Betty would like nothing more than to just close her eyes and doze off again—the clock on the nightstand reads 2:38 AM, after all—but she knows that noise shouldn’t be ignored. What if her mother or FP got hurt? Or Jellybean?

“Yeah,” she replies finally, shoving the covers off and moving to the door. Jughead’s right behind her as she rushes down the hallway as quietly as possible, head swimming with the mantra she keeps repeating to herself: _it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay_. With Jughead on her heels, Betty tiptoes down the stairs quickly but cautiously, all the while trying to convince herself that the shuffling she hears from the living room is entirely in her head. 

There’s another crash, much quieter but still a sure sign that all of this is _not_ just in Betty’s head. Jughead’s fingers brush her waist in the briefest of touches—an instinct to protect her from whatever they’re about to face, she knows. Betty reaches behind her for Jughead’s hand, and even though she does it to reassure _him_, some of the tension slips out of _her_ body when their fingers slot together. (After all, he’s her rock, her light at the end of the tunnel, her port in the storm. When she’s broken, he’s the one who picks up all the shards with his bare hands, no matter how many there are, and puts her back together.)

Betty has no idea what she was expecting to see in the living room, but it certainly wasn’t a dozen men and women with pitchforks and terrifyingly blank gazes. 

_Shit_ is the very first thing that runs through her head, but Jughead’s the one who vocalizes it. He yanks Betty behind him roughly, but she doesn’t even have time to register any discomfort from the sharp movement before Jughead’s switchblade is flicked open in a warning. (He’s been carrying one around for a while, but this is the first time he’s ever had to pull it out. In front of Betty, at least.) Betty’s heart is pulsing in her head again, crashing like the surf, and as Jughead stands frozen, waiting for the mob of pitchfork-wielding lunatics to make the first move, there’s only one thing on Betty’s mind: _Where the hell is Charles?_

After all, her FBI agent brother would be a godsend at a time like this. 

The crowd shifts slightly and so does Jughead, holding up his switchblade more prominently and bracing himself for the inevitable attack. But it never comes. Instead, the sea of strangers parts and a familiar face of strawberry-blonde hair and pouty pink lips is revealed. Jughead’s stance falters slightly in surprise and Betty reaches for him out of instinct, hand curling around his bicep. 

Evelyn Evernever’s lips curl into a little half-smile, but it’s anything but a kind one. “It’s good to see you two again,” she says in that faux-sweet voice of hers. (Yeah, right. Betty knows Evelyn hates her almost as much as she hates Evelyn, despite the Farm’s _love thy neighbor_ mentality and all that.) “I apologize for stopping by so early—and unannounced as well—but it’s just what worked out best.”

_Oh yeah?_ Betty’s tempted to retort. _You couldn’t stop by at a more reasonable hour because...let me guess, you’re too busy trying to steal everyone’s organs and take over the world?_ She hasn’t wanted to roll her eyes this hard since Ethel swore the Gargoyle king wanted her and Jughead to be together. “Welcome,” she says instead, tone dripping with sarcasm, and steps forward to sweep a hand out like she’s presenting all that the house has to offer. “What can we do for you?”

Jughead’s switchblade is lowered but not tucked away, his eyebrows still knotted together as he waits for a cue to make a move. But Evelyn doesn’t seem interested in making a scene, sighing softly and shaking her head like she’s scolding a child. “Oh, Betty. There’s nothing _you_ can do for me. I’d just like to have a little chat with your mother.” Her head tilts and that half-smile is back, but this time it’s downright unsettling. “If that’s okay.”

That is _most definitely_ not okay. Betty’s pretty sure that the Farmies know by now that Alice was working to take them down, and God knows what they would do to her if they had the chance. “My mom’s asleep right now, since it’s practically three in the morning—” she makes sure to pin Evelyn with a very obvious pointed look “—but I’ll deliver a message for you.”

Evelyn clicks her tongue. “Now, Betty, that is just not going to work out.” She steps forward, eyes hard—the first unmistakable sign of hostility. “I’m only going to say this once more: I need to talk to your mother.”

She matches Evelyn’s ferocity, stance unwavering, even as those pitchforks loom in her vision. Jughead’s still at her side, calm and silent, but the slightest bit of uncertainty is wavering off of him. Betty feels it too, a tug of fear in her chest, but she ignores it as she takes a deep breath to utter a single word in reply. 

“No.”

She’s expecting yet another unfriendly curl of Evelyn’s lips, a twitch at least, but it never comes. A shadow passes over Evelyn’s face instead, lingering in her cold blue eyes, and it occurs to Betty that this look could be even more dangerous than Evelyn’s veiled threats. 

Evelyn bows her head slightly, as if in surrender, but something dark flashes in her eyes and Betty deciphers it a second too late. With one gesture from Evelyn, the Farmies have Betty’s hands locked behind her back and a meaty hand is pressed over her mouth to muffle her resulting scream. Jughead manages to deliver an impressive blow to one Farmie’s jaw before he too is restrained, struggling against his captors even after he’s forced to the ground. Betty’s fighting too, thrashing around in the grip of two much stronger people, but she’ll never admit that the classic hand-lick move is all it takes for the hand covering her mouth to drop in surprise and a guttural scream to be ripped from her throat in hopes that _someone_ will hear her. 

A second, more anguished sound tumbles from her lips as one of the Farmies holding Jughead grabs a hold of his neck to bash his head into the floor. “No, no, _Jughead_,” she manages to cry before her mouth is covered again and she’s voiceless once more. Jughead’s scrambling for purchase on the ground, reaching for her, and Betty is forced to watch, lungs seizing, as her boyfriend is slammed into the ground once more, his body going limp as his head makes contact with the hardwood floor. 

With Jughead incapacitated for the time being, several more Farmies reach for Betty, possibly to do the same thing to her that they did to Jughead, and Betty squeezes her eyes shut against the inevitable pain. But it never comes, Evelyn’s voice cutting through the room before the Farmies can do their worst. (Betty had almost forgotten Evelyn was there, to be honest. She’d been so focused on Jughead and the people holding her back from running to him.) “I want her awake for this,” Evelyn is saying, voice dripping with more venom than Betty’s ever heard coming from her. “I want her to watch as her mother is dragged away from her.”

Hot tears are trailing down Betty’s face now, and this time when she shuts her eyes it’s to protect herself from the sight of not only her mother being abducted by some cult-obsessed lunatics but of her boyfriend’s unconscious body in the middle of the hallway. Maybe if she squeezes her eyes shut hard enough, _pretends_ hard enough, it will all go away. She’ll wake up from this nightmare, safely wrapped up in Jughead’s embrace, and she’ll drift back asleep in a cocoon of warmth and protection. Everything will be okay. 

But it’s not a nightmare. It’s real. It’s real, and Betty has to do something. 

She forces her eyes open and swallows hard to brace herself, mind spinning with a million possible ways to get out of this mess. (But would any of them actually work, she has no idea.) Betty’s heart twists painfully when her gaze falls on Jughead’s crumpled form, but it’s nothing compared to the way it plummets in her chest when the unmistakable blonde hair and sharp blue eyes of Alice Cooper appear at the top of the stairs. 

_No._ How did Evelyn get to Alice so fast? Now there’s nothing Betty can do, nothing that will save her mother or Jughead. The grip on her arms tightens and her hope fizzles out, her strength going with it. Betty crumples to the ground, her captors following suit to keep their hold on her, and watches as Evelyn smiles that god-awful saccharine smile and holds her arms out for Alice. But Evelyn’s at the _bottom_ of the staircase. She hadn’t even gotten up the stairs to Alice’s room yet. How did—

“Manhandling children,” Alice scoffs, raising her hand to point a gun between Evelyn’s eyes. (It’s the same one she pulled out during the Jason fiasco when she and Betty heard shuffling in their basement, Betty realizes.) “That’s not a smart move.”

“I did what I had to do.” Evelyn shrugs lazily, but her voice betrays her sudden nervousness. “That Jughead is a difficult one.”

Alice hums like she’s considering the statement, but her eyes narrow ever so slightly. “I know you’re upset with me, but you cannot use your vendetta against me as an excuse for beating up my daughter and her boyfriend. You _will_ not.” Her fingers flex on the trigger. “Now get the hell out of my house before I kill you.”

The steel in Alice’s tone is enough to give Evelyn pause, and before she can open her mouth to respond, FP Jones is behind her, the basement door swinging shut after him. (He’d taken up the couch in the den when Alice had returned.) He’s holding a gun as well, and the sight of him and Alice training guns on Evelyn Evernever in their pajamas would be comical if Betty wasn’t so terrified for what could happen next. 

“Breaking into the sheriff’s house and knocking out his son really wasn’t your best idea, Evelyn,” FP says, gaze hardening when it lands on Jughead’s unconscious form. “Either you leave right now, or I shoot you. It’s your choice.”

Apparently Evelyn’s head is still screwed onto her shoulders to some degree, because she sighs and backs up in surrender. “Fine.” Her eyes are flicking back and forth between the two guns trained on her, and though she’s still seething she doesn’t make any move to escape this situation. “But just know, Alice, this isn’t over. We _will_—”

The front door slams open, effectively cutting Evelyn off _and_ making Betty jump nearly out of her skin, and what seems like the entire Riverdale police department swarms into the house. It doesn’t take long for the Farmies to be rounded up and taken to the sheriff’s station, now that Evelyn has decided she’d rather be put on trial and possibly jailed than shot in the head by Alice Cooper. Even so, it takes a moment before Betty’s brain catches up with her pounding heart, and with her newly-freed arms she scrambles over to her boyfriend’s limp body and scoops him up into her arms. 

“_Jug_,” she sobs, carding her hands through his silky black locks and grimacing at the purple and yellow bruises already forming on his forehead. She knows it’s pointless to be lying in a heap with him like this—he’s not going to wake up anytime soon, and even if he did, he’d need to be sent to the hospital to ensure he didn’t suffer any major injuries—but she can’t help it. It feels like she’s losing him all over again, the cuts and bruises marring his skin a reminder of the first time she saw him like this, minutes after that heart-stopping phone call in which it sounded like he was saying goodbye.

But he’s going to wake up—he woke up last time, and he’ll do it again. _He’s going to be okay_, she tells herself, and it’s the only thing distracting her from the knowledge that losing him would be more painful than a million blows to the head, more painful than a million scars across her body, more painful than death. Betty’s life is like the tide, always falling and rising, and Jughead Jones is the only thing keeping her from being pulled under. 

She barely registers a pair of strong arms lifting her off the floor and into her mother’s car, her eyes swimming with tears as she curls up against Jughead’s mangled body in the backseat as the car hurtles toward Riverdale General Hospital. She barely registers her strangled screams as Jughead’s lifted onto a gurney and whisked out of her sight, but she’s completely and utterly _there_ when Jughead’s tired blue eyes finally, _finally_ flutter open to meet hers. It’s no different than the first time—he shoots her the biggest smile he can muster and slips his hand into hers, reaching for her as she does her best to slip into bed next to him without disturbing one of his various injuries. But he doesn’t have to stay overnight this time, a couple of sickly bruises the only outcome of his skirmish with the Farmies—miraculously, he didn’t receive a concussion despite being knocked out cold after two particularly nasty blows to the head. They’re out of there before lunchtime, and FP is more than happy to grant Jughead’s request to stop at Pop’s on the way home. 

It’s when they reach the Cooper-Jones house that Betty discovers the source of the crash that had started the whole thing: the window that looks into their living room has been smashed, glass littering the couch directly under it. Alice has already vacuumed the couch (several times, according to FP) but forbids anyone from sitting on it until she can be completely sure there’s no more glass. That’s fine with Betty—she’d much rather baby Jughead until he assures her that a few bruises aren’t enough to warrant bed rest, the laughter clear in his voice. 

She does her best to ignore the uncomfortable twisting of her stomach when she overhears her mother on the phone with a psychologist, Alice’s tone laced with worry as she describes Betty’s meltdown the day the Farmies broke into their house. Betty’s known for quite a while that there are a few screws loose in her brain, that when she crashes emotionally she crashes _hard_, but it’s a part of her that she’s come to accept and maybe even understand. She’s okay with it—her darkness, her madness, the way she sometimes craves control. It’s a part of her, something she just can’t deny any longer. So she ignores that twisting of her stomach and continues on with her head held high, pouring all of her energy into Edgar’s trial and all that that entails. 

When Jughead is released from the hospital just hours after arriving, life goes back to normal. Alice arranges for the broken window to be replaced, FP goes into the sheriff’s station to deal with the Farmies they’re holding, and Betty and Jughead resume their schedule of hanging out with friends and spending entire days lounging in bed. Jellybean, who miraculously slept through the whole debacle, is briefly filled in on the events that happened that morning, and then they move on. 

It’s over. The past is just that. It’s time to move on.

But that night, Betty finds she can’t fall asleep. Her brain is swimming with _what ifs_, possible scenarios of what could have happened when Evelyn and her army stopped by. What if Evelyn had succeeded? What if Alice had been hurt or abducted? What if Jughead’s injuries were worse? Fatal, even?

Jughead’s arms are tight around her, bruises barely noticeable in the dark, and Betty takes several deep, calming breaths to remind herself that it’s okay. Jughead is okay, with no long-lasting damage from the violence of that morning. Her mother is sound asleep in the room down the hall, safe and home. 

That’s all that matters. 

-

It doesn’t last long, though, because Alice is gone when Betty awakens the next morning. 

Charles is perched in one of the dining room chairs, sipping a mug of coffee and staring resolutely out the window. Betty’s gotten used to the sight—she finds him in the same spot every morning, doing the exact same thing, even though he’s not staying at Betty’s house. She’s still not sure if it’s an FBI thing or just a Charles Smith thing. 

The second-to-last stair creaks under her weight like it always does, and it alerts Charles to her presence. “Good morning,” he says, gaze not straying from the window for a second. 

“Morning,” she offers in reply, coming to sit at the counter with her brother. (The whole situation is giving her serious Chic-flashbacks, but it’s not about Charles’s behavior—he’s a lot more pleasant than his imposter. It’s still just an odd feeling, having her long-lost brother in her life.) “Is Mom still asleep?”

It’s then that Charles shifts his gaze to her, and the way his eyes fill with pity answers Betty’s question before words even come out of his mouth. “After the disturbance yesterday, my colleagues and I determined it necessary to put Alice under witness protection. I’m sorry, Betty. It isn’t safe for her here anymore.”

_And it’s safe for me?_ Betty thinks. _I’m the one who exposed the Farm. I’m the one they were coming after_. But she knows it’s not true. The Farmies that attacked last night were coming for Alice, and God knows what they would have done to her had they been given the chance. 

She can do nothing more than slump into the seat across from Charles with a heavy sigh, a sudden rush of anger overwhelming her senses and leaving her vision spotty. How is this _fair_? How is it fair that she keeps losing her mother over and over and over again? It’s become a pattern—really, she should have seen this coming. She should have known that Alice Cooper’s return wasn’t going to be permanent, that it wouldn’t even last two days. She should have known, should have thrown her walls up the second Alice appeared in the doorway. But she didn’t—she let her walls crumble and now she’s suffering the consequences. 

(Because when is she going to see her mother again, if ever? Betty doesn’t know much about witness protection, but it’s clear to her that it means the Farm is dangerous to Alice and she needs to be kept away from it at all costs. Even if that means she’s kept away from her family and everyone she’s ever known as well.)

Betty pulls out some cereal (one of the perks of living with FP Jones; there’s something other than fruit and yogurt available for breakfast) and eats in silence, thankful that Charles isn’t much of a talker. It allows her to mull over her thoughts without interruption—or worse, the typical _Are you okay?_ bullshit. (Everyone in this freaking town knows she’s not, knows that the Cooper girls are way more messed up than they let on.) When Jughead stumbles sleepily down the stairs, purplish bruises still staining his skin, it doesn’t take long for him to notice something’s off—instead of the cheery greeting he usually receives from Betty, who’s just as much as a morning person as he is a night owl, his grumbled “Morning, Betts,” only earns a half-hearted smile as she turns back to her cereal. He slides into the chair next to her and slips his hand into hers, squeezing in that familiar _I’m here to listen if you want to talk about it_ gesture. Betty almost gives into his soft look and easy patience (not to mention the soft and sleepy way he looks when he wakes up every morning, something that Betty finds herself falling in love with over and over again), but she waves off his concern. There’s no point in dwelling about it any longer. _It’s in the past_, she tells herself, just like she did with the Evelyn situation, and scoops a spoonful of Honey Nut Cheerios into her mouth. 

Eventually Jughead does find out what was bothering her—or rather, he puts two and two together later that evening when he asks Betty where Alice is and if he should set a plate for her (he and Betty end up making dinner for themselves and Jellybean most nights) and Betty inhales sharply and stiffens instead of replying. 

Jughead doesn’t make a big deal out of it, because he never does; he merely listens as she explains why her mother is going to be absent from their lives for the foreseeable future and stamps a chaste kiss on her forehead when she’s done, saying _I’m always here for you_ without uttering a word. (And she knows he is. It’s almost overwhelming sometimes, how wholly and completely he loves her. But she wouldn’t have it any other way.) Betty leans into his touch, letting herself bask in his unwavering support for a moment, and then life goes on. 

But there’s still one thing that doesn’t feel right, one loose end Betty is dying to tie up: Polly. Betty saw her mother the other day and is mostly confident in the government’s ability to keep her safe, but Betty hasn’t heard from _Polly_ in almost two weeks. (It doesn’t help that the last time Betty saw her sister, Polly was feeding her lies about dead cats and serial killer genes. That is definitely concerning.) She needs to look into whatever facility Polly was sent to, if only to make sure she’s okay. Betty’s feelings for her sister are just as complicated as her feelings for her mother, perhaps even more so, but Polly is her _sister_. Maybe Betty doesn’t owe Polly a second chance—a chance to right her wrongs, to explain herself—but she _wants_ to give her one. The old Betty Cooper, the good girl, is showing her face, demanding to be heard, and she has hope that Polly will come around eventually. (After all, look what happened to FP. He went from being an alcoholic who single-handedly caused the implosion of his family, to a hardworking sheriff who pays the bills and puts food on the table. Betty wants the same for Polly, and she believes that it’s possible. Truly.)

Alice isn’t around this time to be conned into unwittingly giving out Polly’s location, so the next time Betty finds Charles in his usual place at the dining room table, she decides she’s going to just flat-out ask him. 

There’s a long pause before Charles opens his mouth to reply, gaze still trained on whatever he looks out the window at every day. “It’s a place in Greendale called Sweetwater Psychiatric Hospital, right on the river. It’s an excellent facility, I promise.” He turns to Betty with a wry smile. “They aren’t in the habit of using ancient, illegal procedures, if you were wondering.”

Betty cocks an eyebrow at his attempt at humor, equal parts unamused and surprised. (Okay, maybe she’s a tiny bit amused.) She hadn’t realized the Sisters of Quiet Mercy and their..._interesting_ methods had made it through the FBI grapevine. “Good,” she says finally, sliding off the chair in search of both her computer and Jughead. She’s already running the plan through her head—tell Jughead about the facility, get the address, and visit Polly—when she stops and turns back to her half-brother. He’s still sitting at the dining room table, looking out the window as always, and a sudden “Thank you,” tumbles out of Betty’s mouth before her brain even forms the words. Charles makes no indication that he heard her, but Betty swears that the corners of his mouth lift into the smallest of smiles. 

Unsurprisingly, Jughead is on board with her plan, and two hours later Betty finds herself holding her breath as they pull up to a rather large but cozy-looking building. The Tudor-style façade of the hospital gives her hope—it looks nothing like the dull grey, gargoyle-adorned Sisters of Quiet Mercy building. It’s not what she was expecting, but that’s a good thing—by the looks of the warm wallpaper and cushy couches they find when they walk through the front doors, this place is a lot more homey and comfortable than the Sisters. _Thank God_, Betty thinks. 

The receptionist shoots Betty and Jughead a bright smile, speaking before Betty can even open her mouth to explain why they’re here. “You must be here to see Polly Cooper,” she guesses cheerfully, brown curls bouncing as she surveys Betty. “You have the same eyes. And hair.”

“We are,” Betty agrees, pleasantly surprised by the observation. (Hopefully it’s a good thing that Polly’s been here for no more than a week and the receptionist already knows her name.) “I’m her sister.”

The receptionist winks. “Thought so. Betty, right? Polly’s mentioned you.” Betty opens her mouth to reply, not knowing what to say—hopefully Polly has had _something_ nice to say about her younger sister—but the receptionist turns to Jughead before Betty can utter a word. “And you are?”

“Moral support,” Jughead answers wryly, smirking at Betty’s playful eye roll. The smile turns sweet almost instantly, however, and the way he gazes at her makes Betty’s heart skip a beat. (She's seen the look many, many times before, but it never fails to have that effect on her.) “I’m Betty’s boyfriend,” he clarifies after a pause. 

The receptionist grins at them like they’re the cutest things she’s ever seen and hops up from her desk. “Follow me,” she says, beckoning for them to follow her down the hallway. 

Polly’s room is a few doors down, a plaque with her name under the room number signifying that it’s hers. Betty pauses before the door, sucking in a nervous breath. Everything so far has been promising; the building, the interior, the warm welcome from the receptionist. Polly’s the missing piece. Has she been miraculously cured or is she still the brainwashed cult-obsessed girl she was when Betty saw her last?

There’s only one way to find out, she thinks. 

Betty steps forward, her hand closing around the door handle, and, with an encouraging nod from Jughead, swings the door open.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second (and last) part is here! I personally like this part a little bit better than the first part—it's funnier and has a lot more of the friendships we all know and love. This part is also where all of the quote-unquote "sexy times" are, so feel free to skip over those sections if that's not your thing. There's nothing graphic—it's basically what you'd expect from watching the TV show, maybe even less. (That's the reason I added it: it's such a prominent part of the show. Even more so in season 4, if that new poster is anything to go off of. :O If you have no idea what I'm talking about, here's a link: https://www.instagram.com/p/B2el9A1Hm9c/)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this second part! Please leave comments and kudos if you did, they make my day. Seriously. I love hearing from you guys. <3

**Part Two**

“_Betty_?”

“Polly,” Betty says carefully, torn between wanting to run to her sister and standing her ground. It’s the same internal battle she had when her mother came home, and Polly’s unreadable tone sure isn’t making it easier for Betty to decide. (Okay, her tone isn’t actually unreadable. Polly was obviously surprised. It’s the _kind_ of surprised Betty’s confused about—is Polly pleasantly surprised to see her sister or is it more of a disgusted surprised?)

But Polly’s face gives it away. “Betty,” she repeats. The smile she gives Betty is weak, tinged with sadness, but it’s a smile all the same. “It’s so good to see you. I…I was starting to think you’d never come to visit.”

Betty sighs, stepping forward so that she’s fully in the room. “Oh, Polly, of course I’d come visit,” she says, not insincerely. “I know our relationship has been…strained these past few months, but you’re my sister, Pol. I—” She exhales, trying to rein in all of the resentment she feels toward her sister. Betty _wants_ to mend this relationship, she really does. She wants to be able to forgive Polly, even if she doesn’t deserve it. She misses her sister, goddammit. She’s big enough—and just plain sad enough—to admit it. But she’s just not ready to tackle that truth yet, so she opts for an easier one. “I just wanted to check up on you, make sure you’re doing okay. Make sure you’re being treated well here.”

“Oh, I am,” Polly promises, grinning from ear to ear. “I love it here. I miss the Farm sometimes,” she confesses, face falling, “but I’m…I’m getting used to it. To being away.”

Betty sucks her lip into her mouth, biting down just enough to keep from spitting out something about the Farm and all the shit they’ve done. She can feel Jughead’s gaze on her, waiting for a sign that he needs to step in somehow, and her gaze flickers to his briefly before Betty finds the right words for her sister. “I…Polly, I—”

“I’m sorry,” Polly blurts before Betty can finish, and it’s obvious what she’s apologizing for. Her gaze darts away from Betty’s. “It’s not my fault.” Her voice is small, quiet. “It was Edgar. He told me to do it.”

Betty barely refrains from rolling her eyes. “You don’t _have_ to do what Edgar says, Polly.” _You don’t have to convince your little sister that she has a special “serial killer gene” and that she drowned the family cat when she was a kid, just because a psycho cult leader told you to._

“Betty, you don’t understand.” Polly’s eyes are filled with tears now, her expression and posture that of a broken woman. God, the Farm _broke_ Polly. “Edgar’s a good person. He wants what’s best for us. Betty, you were the one who—”

“Don’t you dare.” Betty swallows hard, refusing to shed any tears. “Do _not_ blame me. This is not my fault, Polly. You hear me? _This is not my fault_.” 

Polly’s expression is dark, anguished. “Why can’t you let me be happy, Betty? I was happy at the Farm, and then you burst in and started spinning lies about Edgar and Evelyn—”

“Edgar is a _monster_. I’m sorry to be the one to break it to you,” Betty cuts in, making an exasperated noise that’s almost a laugh, “but he cuts out people’s organs and sells them on the black market. Just a few days ago, Evelyn _broke into our house_ and her Farmie minions slammed Jughead into the ground until he blacked out.” The memory brings a wave of pain that blurs Betty’s vision with tears. “These people are just using you, Polly. They don’t care about you. They’re using you to carry out their nefarious plans and then they’re going to dispose of you.”

There are dozens of emotions flickering across Polly’s face as Betty speaks. She looks like she doesn’t _want_ to believe Betty, like she’s trying not to let Betty’s words get to her, and it forces Betty to change tactics, hoping that there’s at least a shred of the old Polly Cooper left. The Polly who loved her little sister more than anything. “I miss you, Pol. I miss my sister. _Please_.”

Polly’s dark expression gives way to a more vulnerable one. “I-I _can’t_,” she says finally, voice breaking. “I can’t just forget all that the Farm has done for me.” Now she’s the one pleading, willing Betty to understand. “Edgar was there for me at a time no one else was. He _healed_ me, Betty. He showed me how to be happy and how to love myself. I owe everything I am to him.” She shakes her head, tears building again, and in that instant, Betty knows there’s nothing more she can do. She’s lost the fight. “I’m so sorry, Betty. I’m sorry for all the pain the Farm has caused you, but I’m not sorry for the inner peace they’ve brought me.”

“I understand,” is Betty’s reply, and it’s the truth. Maybe she doesn’t understand _how_ the Farm has helped Polly, but she can accept that it did. It’s her job, as a sister, to do so. The Farm has made Polly happy, and that’s all Betty could ever want for her sister. That’s what Polly deserves. 

(But Betty’ll be damned if that’s going to stop her from testifying against Edgar. Polly may have benefitted from Edgar’s appearance in their lives, but Betty’s experience with the Farm’s leader has been quite the opposite and she refuses to let him get away with it. She’s not going down without a fight. A small part of her had hoped she could recruit Polly to help her, but that’s definitely off the table, and Betty’s not going to harass her sister any more into changing her mind about Edgar. It is the way it is.)

Though her visit to the Sweetwater Psychiatric Hospital didn’t exactly go as expected, Betty finds that the pain in her chest that’s associated with Polly is a little bit more bearable than before. As they say their goodbyes and Polly’s door swings shut behind her, Betty can finally breathe, knowing that she's making progress in fixing her relationship with her sister. They’re far from the inseparable sister-sister duo they once were, but Betty likes the warm bubble in her chest when she thinks about what she’s accomplished. She talked to her sister—made Polly aware of her feelings and, in turn, listened to Polly’s side of the story. That warm bubble is pride, she decides, and it feels good to be proud of herself for something. (And it turns out Jughead’s feeling the same way about her—that night, he tells her as such, holding her close and murmuring _I’m so proud of you, baby_ in her ear as she dozes off in his embrace.)

Betty meets with her attorney the next day, a tall, intimidating woman named Laura Robertson who was referred to Betty by her brother. Charles says she’s the best of the best, which gives Betty a little bit of confidence, and as an added bonus he’s offered to pay the full price of Ms. Robertson’s services. (Betty had refused to let him do so initially, being the considerate Cooper girl that she is, but she’s secretly relieved that she doesn’t have to cough up thousands of dollars for her attorney.) The last two missing pieces have been put into place—the trial has been scheduled and Edgar’s agreed to it, the latter of which surprised Betty somewhat. (Maybe he’s feeling confident that he can win. And who knows. Maybe he will. But Betty doesn’t want to think about that right now.) 

As for where in the world Edgar is, Betty has no clue, but apparently he’s back. The ascension, whatever that was, is over, and the Farm is back in town. (She didn’t get a chance to ask her mother what the ascension entailed before she left, and Polly’s not a totally reliable source.) Betty’s been avoiding the old Sisters building for the past few weeks, so she has no idea if the Farmies have returned to their hideout. Wherever they are, they’re back, and Betty is going to have to face the music in a couple of days. 

But for now, she’s going to take advantage of what downtime she has, reading and writing and taking long strolls around town. On one particular afternoon she finds herself propped up against Jughead’s side, flipping through one of her favorite Toni Morrison books as Jughead’s fingers fly across the keyboard of his laptop. It’s a position they’ve been in many times before, one that works well for keeping each other company while still getting work done. But right now Betty’s distracted, eyes scanning the page before her but not registering any of the words. She exhales long and slow, eyes flitting around the room as she tries to banish all the roaming thoughts taking over her brain. Betty tries to lose herself in the poetry of Toni Morrison’s voice, but her mind is stubborn and after another few minutes of battling internally with her wandering thoughts, she sighs again and closes the book with a sense of finality. 

She’s leaning back against Jughead’s side, eyes closed, but she can feel his gaze resting on her. Betty turns, curling her body against him and tucking her head into the crook of his neck. She breathes him in, running her thumb over his shoulder and collarbone until he squirms. “Betty,” he says, voice low with amusement and something else, “you’re distracting me.”

Her eyes are closed but she’s anything but sleepy. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says innocently, knowing exactly what her warm breath against his neck and her wandering fingers are doing to him. (It’s all part of the plan, after all. She needs a distraction from the trial, and who better to distract her than her incredible boyfriend?) “I didn’t realize that this—” she presses a feather-light kiss to his neck “—was distracting.”

Jughead inhales sharply, body stiff for a beat before he pushes his laptop away and his hands flit down Betty’s back. “Are you bored? Or do you just like messing with me?” There’s a smile in his voice. 

Betty shakes her head, nose brushing against his neck as she does so. “I need a distraction,” she whispers into his skin, fingers traveling up the other side of his neck to tangle in the hair peeking out from under his beanie. “Please. It’s all too much,” she admits, lifting her head to look into his eyes. (It’s a mystery to Betty why the color blue is associated with sadness when she looks into Jughead’s eyes and sees nothing but pure love.) “I need…I need you.”

His eyes are dark from Betty’s antics but she sees empathy there too. Understanding. “Anything for you,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. His hands find her waist. “C’mere.”

Betty crawls onto his lap, swinging a leg over his body so that her knees are bracketing his hips, and sinks into the kiss he gives her. His hands are warm on her waist, his mouth delicious against hers, and, per usual, Betty forgets everything that isn’t _him_. His hands, his lips, his body, his scent. The boy—man, really; they’re almost eighteen—who loves her with everything that he is. 

She snuggles up close when they’re both spent, not caring that the humidity has made their skin more sticky than usual. Betty distracts herself with the task of tracing invisible patterns across Jughead’s chest, connecting the moles to create constellations more beautiful than any she’s ever seen in the night sky. “Thank you,” she whispers after a beat, not really intending for Jughead to hear, but he does anyway. He hums in reply, thumb rubbing circles into her shoulder. 

He’s so good to her. He’s patient and loving, supportive and trustworthy. He’s seen all of the broken parts of her, carried them in his hands, and he still holds her, loves her, wants her. He’s seen all the parts of her that she tries desperately to hide and yet he still looks at her like she’s the best thing to ever happen to him, like she’s everything he could ever want. He looks at her and his eyes say _I love you_ every time, no matter the day, the situation, the mood. She’s never felt more wholly loved than she does with him. 

Betty’s thoughts are cut off by the grumbling of Jughead’s stomach—it’s almost dinnertime, to be fair—and she giggles. “You hungry?” she teases, fingers trailing down his stomach. 

“Mmm-hmm.” He props himself up on one elbow to lean over her, and a devilish grin flashes across his face before it disappears into her neck, his nose and lips ghosting along her jaw. “_Very hungry_,” he breathes into the space behind her ear, hips pressing into hers. 

She smacks him with a pillow, a scandalized expression dancing across her face, but she’s laughing. 

-

“Hey, Betty. Can we…talk for a second?”

Betty lifts her gaze from her milkshake to meet Kevin’s and instinctively steels herself for whatever comes next. They haven’t interacted beyond eye-contact since Kevin and Fangs dragged Betty to the operating room where she was almost sliced open like a frog in bio class. Betty isn’t sure who’s avoiding who—it seems to be mutual. But now Kevin’s waltzed right up to her table at Pop’s, interrupted a meeting with Jughead, Cheryl, and Toni regarding the upcoming trial, and asked if they could talk. She supposes she should at least hear him out, even if she’s sick of giving people second chances and then subsequently being disappointed. 

“No chance, you backstabbing plebe.” Cheryl pins Kevin with a glare from where she sits opposite Betty, cherry-red lips abandoning the straw in her milkshake just long enough for her to utter the words. “Betty doesn’t owe you anything.”

Toni places a hand over Cheryl’s and opens her mouth, presumably to say something along the lines of _Chill out, babe_, but Betty beats her to it. “It’s okay, Cheryl.” She finds Jughead’s hand and squeezes, reassuring him that she really is okay, and slides out of the booth, following Kevin to an empty table on the other side of the diner. 

She slips into the booth on the opposite side of Kevin and takes a deep breath, giving him her best Cooper smile. But Kevin knows by now what the Cooper smile means—it’s about as fake and manicured as any—and he sighs, gaze dropping to examine the tabletop. “Betty,” he starts after a beat, lifting his gaze back up to meet hers, “I know it’s long overdue, but I’m sorry. I really am. I just…” He trails off, shaking his head with a sigh. “I don’t have an excuse. I was an absolute dick. Worse than that.”

_Yeah, you were_, Betty wants to say. But she merely smiles ruefully and waits for him to continue. “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Kevin says, “but I thought I’d at least let you know that I regret it. I regret thinking that the Farm was a good way to fill the boyfriend-shaped void in my life. Obviously they weren’t.” He swallows hard, eyes brimming with regret. “I hurt you, Betty. I hurt one of my closest friends, and I won’t blame you if you can’t forgive me for that. I don’t think I’d be able to.”

Her head is telling her not to forgive him, that he’s hurt her and she needs to cut him out of her life, but her heart is telling her that she should. She wants to forgive him. She _misses_ her friend, plain and simple. Just as she’d missed Polly. She misses the old Kevin, the pre-Farm Kevin, and it seems that he’s really making an effort to become that guy again. He’s extended his hand metaphorically, apologizing and asking for forgiveness, and now it’s Betty’s turn to do her part. “Thank you for apologizing, Kevin,” she says, and he nods in response as if that’s all he’s expecting from her. A _thank you, but it’s too late_. But instead she says, “I forgive you.”

Kevin looks shocked for a split second, but the expression quickly shifts to pure happiness as he reaches across the table to take her hands. “Thank _you_,” he gushes, smile wide and bright. “I missed you so much, Betty.”

“I missed you too, Kev.” There’s no point in denying it. “Thank you for coming back to your senses.” 

He snorts. “You’re welcome.”

Betty grins, squeezing his hand. “Hopefully it’s not too soon for me to ask this, but would you like to help Jug, Cheryl, Toni, and I? We’re testifying against Edgar in a couple of days and I’d love to have another witness.”

“Oh my God, yes. I’ve always dreamed of delivering a witness statement.” At Betty’s skeptical look, he sighs. “Okay. Not really, but I do think the trial’s going to be super exciting. Betty Cooper and Cheryl Blossom teaming up to kick some cult leader ass? Hell yeah.”

She giggles, cheeks heating at the compliment. “There’s the Kevin we all know and love.”

“I missed me too.” He winks, teasing another grin out of Betty. She’s so relieved that _this_ turned out okay. Maybe Polly’s not entirely cured of the Farm’s influence—she may never be, and Betty just needs to accept that—but it’s amazing to have Kevin on Betty’s side again. His presence always gives her a boost of confidence, and Betty could really use some confidence in the upcoming trial. (Plus, it’s just good to have her friend back.)

Kevin follows her back to her original booth, where Jughead is looking extremely apprehensive (for Betty’s sake, she knows) and Toni is trying to keep Cheryl from blurting anything particularly scathing. “We made up,” Betty informs them, slipping in beside Jughead and resting a hand on his thigh comfortingly. (It’s also an effort to calm him down. There’s a possibility he’d spit out something sardonic if anything at all came out of Kevin’s mouth, but it’s even more likely that he’d just sit there in silence, guard up, unless Betty did something to reassure him that she and Kevin are on good terms.) “Kevin just wanted to apologize to me for…everything. He’s going to help us with the trial.”

Kevin blanches at the not-so subtle eye roll from Cheryl, but accepts the seat Betty offers him on her right side. Jughead mutters something unintelligible when he and Betty scoot over to make room for Kevin, but clamps his mouth shut when Betty side-eyes him. The resulting silence around the table is awkward, to say the least, and in an attempt to lighten the mood Betty smiles and says, “Let’s get back to work.”

They make considerable progress in the next hour and when Cheryl and Toni stand to say that it’s been lovely but they best be going (Cheryl’s words), Kevin takes that as a cue to leave as well. Now that it’s just Betty and Jughead in the booth, Betty lets her shoulders drop and her body slouch back as she slumps against the vinyl seat. She’d been keeping her head high and shoulders squared, trying her best not to reveal any anxiety she has over it, but now that her only audience is her boyfriend (who can tell immediately when she’s pretending), she lets her true feelings show through. Jughead’s arm is already around her, and he tugs her to his chest, lips pressing against her forehead. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing gentle circles into her shoulder. “We’ll get through it.”

_We’ll get through it_, Betty repeats to herself like a mantra. She wants to believe him more than anything. She really does. She wants to win this trial and to go home knowing that everything’s going to be okay. But the doubts start creeping in and it’s difficult to stay optimistic. (It’s funny that Jughead’s the one being positive when it’s usually Betty who’s trying to convince _him_. The past few years have really changed things.)

_God_, she’s tired of this. 

-

Betty’s been sitting in the waiting room at the courthouse for quite some time, picking at the hem of her sweater, when the door bursts open and the Serpents stroll in. Jughead finds Betty immediately, taking the empty seat next to her and nodding hello to Cheryl, who’s perched in the chair on Betty’s other side. Kevin’s next to her, scrolling through his phone. (It’s such a relief to have the old Kevin back. Brainwashed Kevin was a drag, for sure, but Betty really just missed her friend.) Betty slips her hand into Jughead’s in lieu of a greeting, squeezing, and he squeezes back.

The rest of the Serpents place themselves around the room, taking up chairs, tables, and even floor space. Toni’s here, along with the Pretty Poisons, and Betty finds the whole scene comical—teenagers with leather jackets lounging in a courtroom lobby, the receptionist’s gaze flickering around like she’s not sure whether to ignore them or shoo them away. 

Jellybean is also here, Betty finds. She’s sitting on the other side of the waiting room, fingers deftly twisting her hair into braids. Betty follows her gaze to a tall, blond Serpent she’s forgotten the name of whom Jellybean is not-so-subtly ogling. It doesn’t seem like the Serpent realizes that JB is staring at him, his gaze unfocused and resting somewhere on the floor. (Actually, Betty’s pretty sure she heard that he’s blind, so it’s no wonder he has no idea he’s got a secret admirer.)

It takes Betty a beat to realize her boyfriend is watching her, one eyebrow raised quizzically. He glances over at the guy and then back at Betty. She nods at the Serpent as a way of explanation. “What’s his name again? The blond guy over there.”

Jughead glances back at the blond Serpent, who still apparently has no idea that a total of three people are now looking his way. “Why?” There’s a lilt to his voice like he’s teasing her, and it should have been obvious what he was going to say next by the way his lips curl into the almost-smile that Betty sees on him quite often. “Think he’s cute?”

“Very.” She shoots him her best coquettish smile, batting her eyelashes. “Do you have his number, by chance?”

“I do, as a matter of fact.” His hand flies to his jacket pocket, where Betty knows his phone is, but pretends to pause and rethink the action. “But I’m not gonna give it to you,” he continues, pointedly ignoring her fake pout, “because my little sister is clearly crushing on him over there—” he shrugs in Jellybean’s direction “—and family’s my first priority.”

Her head falls to the side, bottom lip still jutting out. “Not your girlfriend?”

One of his eyebrows lifts ever so slightly. “I said _family_. You’re family, so yeah, you are.” Betty bites her lip to stifle her smile, and Jughead’s eyes track the movement before he continues, looking much too smug. “But I’m still not giving you his number, because you have a boyfriend who’s both way hotter than that guy and irrevocably in love with you.”

Betty’s still chewing her lip, but this time she fails miserably to stop her mouth from curling into a grin. “True,” she muses, still caught up on the fact that Jughead called himself _hot_. There’s a first time for everything, she thinks, and for some reason the idea of Jughead saying something so cocky and so _not_ self-deprecating is so funny that a giggle escapes her lips. Jughead fake-huffs and rolls his eyes, and it’s proof he knows her too well—he obviously understood why she was laughing. 

Feeling light and playful and unlike she’s been feeling the past few days leading up to the trial, Betty leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of Jughead’s mouth. She begins to pull away after a beat but Jughead captures her face and then her lips, and the noise of satisfaction Betty makes has him sliding one hand to the back of her neck to deepen the kiss. 

“Save it, you two,” comes Cheryl’s voice, and Betty pulls away very reluctantly. Jughead is now very clearly in what Betty lovingly calls _defense mode_, but before he can bite back a retort Cheryl continues, examining her nails as she speaks. “My heart is already having fibrillations from that little _family_ comment, there’s no need to cause it to stop altogether.” 

Even Jughead has no proper response. “Ha ha,” he says finally, and Cheryl merely smirks in reply without looking up from her nails. Betty bites her lip to contain her smile, cheeks flushed. She doesn’t even have to look over at Jughead to know he’s having a similar reaction.

“Betty!” a familiar voice gasps out, the door swinging open to reveal a flushed Veronica, an apologetic-looking Archie on her tail. “I’m so sorry,” the raven-haired girl sighs, plopping down very un-Veronica-like in the chair opposite Betty. (Out of the corner of Betty’s eye, she sees Jughead‘s eyebrow shoot upward. Betty’s feeling the same way.) “We got caught up, and…” She sighs again, shaking her head like she’s dismissing the thought. She reaches across to place her hand on Betty’s comfortingly. “How are you doing?”

“Okay,” Betty says finally, watching as Veronica exhales, satisfied with the response, and pulls back to lean against the chair rather exhaustedly. She seems stressed—overwhelmed, maybe. Betty’s stomach sinks. Something’s wrong. Her best friend is acting out of character and Betty has no idea why. She can’t believe she hasn’t been there for Veronica. _Dammit_. “How…how are _you_?”__

_ _Veronica looks startled by the question. “I’m…I’m fine,” she says, frowning. “It’s just family stuff.” Right. Because her parents are both _in jail_. “Seriously, Betty. I’m fine. Please don’t worry about me. You don’t need yet _another_ thing to worry about.” She smiles warmly, albeit a bit tiredly. _ _

_ _Betty returns the look, still feeling a bit guilty, but grateful that Veronica’s noticed how much Betty has on her plate. (It doesn’t mean she’s not going to do her best to help Veronica, no matter the cost on her mental health. Betty’s stubborn that way, and she knows it’s unhealthy, but she just can’t help it. She was raised to be the perfect, selfless girl-next-door, and as much as she hates perfection and hates confining stereotypes, that’s a big part of who she is. It’s a product of living in the Cooper household for almost eighteen years.)_ _

_ _An unfamiliar voice drags Betty out of her thoughts. “Elizabeth Cooper?” The door to the courtroom is now open, and there’s a woman beckoning Betty inside. “The judge is ready for you now.”_ _

_ _She can’t help it—her gaze immediately flies to Jughead’s. He’s already looking at her, eyes soft and comforting, giving her the strength she needs to stand. Betty tries to avoid looking past the heavy wood doors of the courtroom and instead focuses on Jughead’s gaze and the way he holds out his hand and asks quietly, “Ready?”_ _

_ _Betty nods after a beat, taking in a deep breath. Looking around at everyone who’s here to support her, looking into the clear blue of Jughead’s eyes, she decides that she is. As ready she’ll ever be. _ _

_ _-_ _

_ _It’s been three days since the trial and Betty’s going crazy. _ _

_ _There’s a strange line jutting across the ceiling in her bedroom that she’s never noticed before, one that she’s not sure is real or simply a product of her vivid, hyperactive brain. She keeps revisiting moments of the trial; waiting endlessly beforehand, Edgar spinning facts and trying to win over the jury (hopefully not successfully), and how her heart couldn’t stop pounding even as they left the courthouse. _ _

_ _The last one she remembers particularly well: walking out of the courthouse and into the muggy summer air, Betty was pretty sure she felt even more anxious than she did coming in. Her mind was all over the place, dozens of possible outcomes running through her head. People congratulated her and told her she did a good job, but she could only smile distractedly, allured by all the _what-if_s bouncing around in her head. Jughead had sensed her disconnect (because of course he did; he’s very perceptive that way) and murmured “Hey,” as they descended the courthouse steps, fingers brushing her waist in an effort to capture her attention. When she turned to him, gaze flickering to the side because she already knew what he was going to say, he pulled her close and pressed his lips to her forehead softly. It’s a wordless exchange, and yet Betty could hear his message loud and clear; it’s praise and support and a declaration of love all wrapped up into one gesture. She had given him a smile in return, one that was much more genuine than the others she’d been dishing out, and slipped her hand into his as they walked the remaining distance to his motorcycle. _ _

_ _To his credit, Jughead’s been doing his very best to distract her these past few days. He’d driven her to Pop’s earlier this morning to meet Veronica and Archie, a nice surprise that had greatly improved Betty’s mood. And even better—when they got home, the second the front door had closed behind them, Jughead had captured Betty’s lips in a passionate kiss. They’d barely made it upstairs into their room before Betty had tugged off his shirt and unbuttoned his jeans, Jughead pulling off _her_ clothes just as swiftly. Needless to say, _that_ had thoroughly distracted her. _ _

_ _Now they’re basking in the afterglow, bodies relaxed and breathing steady. Betty’s hand rests over Jughead’s sternum, and she can feel his heartbeat through her fingertips as if it’s an extension of her own. As if he was made to be hers, and she his; two halves of the same whole. If all that astrology nonsense was real, if soulmates existed, Betty knows who hers would be. _ _

_ _Jughead’s skin is warm against hers, his scent stronger now that it’s mixed with sweat and sex. (It’s a tantalizing mixture, for sure.) His fingers trace idle patterns on Betty’s shoulder, and she can tell by the slow rise and fall of his chest that he’s already starting to doze off. (Jughead always gets soft and sleepy after release, a fact Betty finds quite adorable, if she’s being completely honest. It’s a side of him that’s reserved for her and only her—smooth, sweat-slicked hair and that gentle, sated smile. He’s relaxed around her, comfortable, and she loves him for it.) _ _

_ _But he surprises her—not ten seconds later he shifts, moving to face her. His thumb finds her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw, and though it’s nothing new—soft blue eyes flitting over her face, fingertips dancing along her skin—it stokes the flames that lick at her insides, flames of love and desire. “Betty,” he starts, voice tinged with amusement, “I can practically hear you thinking over there.”_ _

_ _Betty sighs in response, long and heavy. She doesn’t want to admit it, but her mind _has_ been wandering back to Edgar and the trial and the jury’s decision. She has a feeling the suspense is going to get her even before the jury comes to a conclusion. “I know,” she replies, sighing again. “I’m just...nervous, I guess. Was it enough? What if it wasn’t enough? I—” She exhales in a huff, shaking her head as Jughead runs his hand up and down her arm reassuringly. _ _

_ _“It will be,” he assures her, hand coming up to brush an imaginary lock of hair behind her ear. She wants to believe him, really. She _wants_ it to have been enough. But she knows better. Nothing’s ever this simple, nothing ever gets tied up with this neat of a bow. There’s something telling her that this isn’t over. _ _

_ _“But what if isn’t?” she counters. Jughead cocks an eyebrow and opens his mouth to retort, but Betty continues before he has a chance. “Just humor me, Jughead,” she pleads. “What if they get away with it?”_ _

_ _“Then they get away with it,” he replies finally, shaking his head. “They win and we lose.” He shifts, propping himself up on his elbow to hold her gaze. “It’s gonna suck, Betty. You’re gonna be hurt, angry that you tried so hard but Edgar and Evelyn still managed to slip through your fingers. And understandably so. But you’re _going_ to survive, Betty. Look at everything else you’ve survived, everything else in the past two years that beat you down and left you gasping for air. You picked yourself up and you kept going, no matter how hard it was to do so. No matter how much you wanted to give up.” He’s watching her almost reverently now, and it’s almost painful how much he loves her. How _obvious_ it is. (God, she's so lucky.) “If they get away with it, it’s not going to be easy to deal with the aftermath. But it’s _possible_. Betty Cooper, you are the strongest person I’ve ever met. And I don’t mean that lightly,” he adds, begging her to believe him. “I love you, and I _believe_ in you.”_ _

_ _There are tears brimming in her eyes now, and she swipes at them, laughing wetly. “Jug,” she manages finally, overwhelmed by the emotion his words provoked. She burrows into his chest, head tucked under his chin as he presses his lips to her hair. _ _

_ _“Do you believe me?” he asks after a beat, pulling back to look her in the eye. It’s the same question he asked her last year after promising her she wasn’t evil, and it’s paired with the same expression; Betty’s heart thumps in her chest at the memory. (God, she loves him so much. That one word, _love_, seems like it encompasses her feelings just right and not enough all at once. What she feels for Jughead is deeper, more complex than anything she’s ever felt before, and even though she’s only seventeen years old Betty has a feeling nothing else will ever top this.)_ _

_ _Betty nods sincerely, chewing at her lip to stifle her tears. “Yeah,” she says, but her voice cracks on the simple word. It doesn’t sound convincing. She tries again, clearing her throat and nodding again. “Yes.”_ _

_ _Jughead simply hums in reply, thumb coming up to brush her cheek and jaw. His gaze finds hers again and Betty’s mouth curls into a smile instinctively. Jughead chuckles at her reaction, and it’s clear that they’re on the same wavelength when he leans in to press his lips to hers. (She was just about to do the same.) Betty sighs into his mouth and feels him smile in return. _ _

_ _The kiss deepens almost instantly, Jughead shifting to hover over her, cradling her face in one hand and the other slipping under her head to tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck. She runs her hands up his back to return the favor, sliding them through his hair, when a ringtone startles Betty out of the sensations. She drops her hands, trying to wiggle out of Jughead’s embrace and answer her phone, but he whimpers and slots his lips back over hers. “Ignore it,” he murmurs against her mouth, fingers tracing a path down her neck and over her collarbone. _ _

_ _Betty would love to do just that, but there are more pressing matters. It could be anyone calling, really—Veronica, Archie, a telemarketer—but what if…? She gathers up all the self-control she has and pushes against Jughead’s chest. “Wait,” she gasps, dodging another playful kiss. “What if it’s the attorney?”_ _

_ _Jughead pulls back, leaning over her on both hands with wide eyes. “You don’t think…”_ _

_ _She exhales in a huff and then realizes she’d been holding her breath. “The jury’s decided.”_ _

_ _Jughead lays down next to her as she sits up and reaches for her phone, picking it up just in time. The screen reads _Laura Robertson_ and Betty sucks in a nervous breath as she presses the answer button. “Betty Cooper,” she says into the phone. (It’s her standard greeting—polite and simple.)_ _

_ _“This is Laura Robertson,” a woman’s sharp voice calls out. “I’m calling to inform you that the deliberation has ended. The reading of the verdict will take place Tuesday at eleven A.M.”_ _

_ _Betty’s breath catches. “O-okay,” she manages finally, glancing over at Jughead, who’s watching her intently. “Thank you, Ms. Robertson. I’ll see you Tuesday at eleven.”_ _

_ _“Goodbye, Miss Cooper,” is the reply, and the call ends as quickly as it began. Betty pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at it for a beat, heart pounding from nerves. Waiting for the jury to deliberate was stressful, for sure, but now that she knows a decision has been made? Tuesday can’t come fast enough, and yet at the same time she never wants it to come. She never wants to have to face reality, if there’s even the slightest change that all of her work could be for naught. _ _

_ _But Jughead promised her that she’d get through it, that _they’d_ get through it, and she wasn’t lying when she said she believed him. She does. She believes that she’ll get through it, no matter what happens, but that doesn’t mean she’s not nervous. _ _

_ _“Betty?”_ _

_ _Jughead’s looking at her expectantly. His hand comes up to rub her shoulder reassuringly as she takes another deep breath to compose herself. “The deliberation is over. We go back to court on Tuesday to hear the decision.”_ _

_ _She flops down onto the bed with a huff, rolling closer to Jughead as his arms encircle her. His scent is familiar, comforting, and she takes a deep breath against his chest as his hands run up and down her back. She’s tired; physically, mentally, all of it. She’s tired and she needs a freaking _break_. A break from the insanity that’s been following her around since the summer before sophomore year. But this is Riverdale, so it’s kind of a never-ending cycle. When one thing ends, another begins, and so on until Betty’s breathless and broken. She’s gotten used to it, the predictability of it all, but it’d be nice to have a break. _ _

_ _This is the best she’s going to get, she realizes as Jughead’s heart beats against her cheek, as he drifts off clutching her close to his chest. He’s her salvation, her lifeline, one of the only things that keeps her sane, and she’s grateful for any amount of time that she has with him. _ _

_ _Betty’s eyelids fall closed and she nods off into the best sleep she’s had in weeks, curled up in Jughead’s embrace. _ _

_ _-_ _

_ _Tuesday morning rolls around and Betty’s sitting at the dining room table, sipping on a cup of decaf coffee and nibbling a blueberry scone. (She’d picked up some pastries from the bakery a few blocks away on her walk the other day—though FP’s a changed man, he’d never think to buy baked goods for breakfast.) Her nerves have spiked, making it so she’s got little to no appetite, but she forces herself to take a few bites of the scone for energy and spends the next few minutes deep in thought, coffee mug warm in her palms. She doesn’t even notice that Jellybean’s come downstairs until the fridge opens with a _whoosh_ and Betty is alerted to the younger girl’s presence. “Good morning,” Betty supplies warmly, giving Jellybean her best smile considering the anxiety about the deliberation that’s threatening to bubble up. _ _

_ _Jellybean must have noticed the underlying strain to Betty’s smile—she and Jughead have the same innate ability to see through false emotions—because she doesn’t waste any time in turning around to ask, “How’re you feeling about today?”_ _

_ _That’s another thing about Jellybean—she’s very blunt, and Betty’s grateful for it. Most people seem to mince their words around her, like they’re scared that she’ll shatter if they step wrong, and they’ll be forced to pick up the pieces. But Jellybean, like her brother, doesn’t treat Betty any differently than everyone else. She doesn’t treat Betty like she’s about to break. She straight-up asks Betty how she’s feeling and Betty responds gratefully, “Okay. Nervous.”_ _

_ _Jellybean nods, apparently comfortable enough with Betty that she doesn’t feel awkward at all saying, “I thought so. You look a little distracted.”_ _

_ _Betty leans back in her chair with a sigh. “I am. I just can’t stop _thinking_.”_ _

_ _Now equipped with a huge bowl of cereal and a scone—Betty swears the Jones kids are going to eat them out of the house sooner or later—Jellybean sits across from Betty with a thoughtful look gracing her features. “Do you want to talk about it? That might help get if off your chest.”_ _

_ _She can’t help it—Betty gapes at Jellybean for a beat, amazed by how mature and sympathetic she is. (Jughead is the same way; so attuned to other people’s emotions. It’s a result of their upbringing, Betty thinks. She’s not sure how Jellybean was raised, but she knows that Jughead’s situation forced him to grow up a lot faster than their other classmates. His emotional maturity stems from that.) “I just…the trial is stressing me out a bit,” she admits, toying with her placemat. “I have mixed feelings about the deliberation. On one hand, I want it to be over as soon as possible. The suspense is killing me.” She laughs humorlessly, eyes dropping to follow the movements of her hand. “And on the other hand, I don’t really _want_ to know what the jury’s decided. This little bubble of ignorance is kinda nice.” _ _

_ _When Betty’s eyes find Jellybean’s again, the younger girl doesn’t look confused or uncomfortable at all. She looks a little melancholy, actually, but sympathetic. “This trial means a lot to you, doesn’t it.” It’s not a question, and Betty doesn’t need to provide an answer. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now. I can’t imagine what _any_ of you guys have gone through. It sounds like some pretty heavy shit.” Betty’s eyebrow shoots up at the same time Jellybean flushes. “Don’t tell my dad I said that.”_ _

_ _Betty can’t help it—she giggles a little. It’s kind of funny that Jellybean is so tough and mature, listening to Pink Floyd and having deep conversations with her brother’s girlfriend, but is nervous about what her father would say if he heard that his twelve-year-old daughter swore. She wants to impress her father, Betty realizes, the same way FP wants to impress her. It’s pretty endearing. “I won’t,” she promises, almost wanting to hold out her pinky to seal the deal. _ _

_ _It occurs to her, quite suddenly, that the last few seconds provided Betty with what serves to calm her nerves the most: a distraction. Thinking about something else, someone else, even if only for a second, is enough to take her mind off of the trial and deliberation. “Can you…can you just talk to me?” Betty blurts, feeling less embarrassed by the request than she thought she would feel. Maybe it’s because Jellybean is so non-judgmental and understanding. “Tell me something about you to distract me.” She searches around for a topic. “How…How’s your summer been?”_ _

_ _Jellybean thinks for a beat, spooning some cereal into her mouth as she does. “Well, I’ve been hanging out with some friends from school. A couple of them are Serpents, so I’ve had a taste of the gang life.” She wrinkles her nose, which is honestly how Betty felt about the Serpents before Jughead joined them and steered them away from drug dealing and violence. “But they’ve introduced me to some cool people, like David, and Toni, and other people like that.” _ _

_ _“David?” Betty asks, even though by the flush high in Jellybean’s cheeks Betty thinks she knows exactly who David is. _ _

_ _“Yeah,” Jellybean says, obviously attempting nonchalance. It’s endearing, really—it reminds Betty of her days of silly crushes and playground memories, before it all came crashing down. “David. You know? Tall, blond, British accent? Born blind?” She describes him almost dreamily, but waves her hand around in a way Betty knows is supposed to portray indifference. (It’s not working. Betty can see right through her. Maybe it’s because _she_ was once in Jellybean’s shoes; a twelve-year-old with a crush. Hers was more of the redhead variety, however.)_ _

_ _“Ah.” Betty nods, remembering the blond Serpent Jellybean was ogling at the courthouse. She didn't realize he had an accent. She sees why that could be attractive—tall, blond, and British. (It’s like if Tom Hiddleston was a seventeen-year-old gang member.) “I couldn’t remember his name.”_ _

_ _“Whose name?”_ _

_ _Betty whips around in her seat at the sound of a familiar voice, smiling as her eyes meet a pair of sleepy blue ones. Jughead’s dark locks frame his face messily, worn t-shirt almost as rumpled. He drops a quick kiss on the top of Betty’s head in greeting and slips into the seat next to her. Jellybean scoffs. “Good morning to you too, Jughead.”_ _

_ _Jughead raises an eyebrow. “Morning, JB,” he replies, almost teasingly. _ _

_ _Jellybean rolls her eyes in faux-annoyance. “Thanks,” she drawls. “And we were talking about David. The Serpent,” she clarifies in response to Jughead’s earlier question._ _

_ _Jughead hums. “Ah.” Almost like it’s an afterthought, even though Betty knows by the grin spreading across his face that he planned on saying it all along, he adds, “Betty has a crush on him.”_ _

_ _“Oh my God,” Betty splutters, laughing, and the look on Jellybean’s face is utterly priceless—it’s a perfect mix of surprise, jealousy, and utter confusion. (Obviously she doesn’t get it; she wasn’t in earshot when Jughead had teased Betty about wanting to know who the blond Serpent was at the courthouse.) “It’s a joke, JB,” she explains in between giggles, watching as the crease between Jellybean’s eyebrows disappears and an expression of mild amusement takes its place. “Don’t worry. He’s all yours.”_ _

_ _She clamps a hand over her mouth the second the words come out, eyes flickering across Jellybean’s face worriedly as her reaction plays out. She looks mortified, definitely, but there’s definitely a lot more embarrassment than irritation. “I kinda hoped it wasn’t that obvious,” Jellybean says sheepishly after a beat, cheeks red. _ _

_ _Betty smiles reassuringly. “I know how that feels. I pined after the same guy for _years_, almost hoping he would never find out so I didn’t have to risk getting rejected.”_ _

_ _Jellybean snorts. “You pined after _this_ idiot for _years_?” she asks, nodding her head in Jughead’s direction. _ _

_ _“It was Archie, actually,” Betty admits somewhat reluctantly, still a little bit embarrassed by her childhood crush. (It was silly, quite frankly. But that’s the point. To learn a little about love and heartbreak and maybe even about yourself.) “But it didn’t actually take that long for me to get over him when he ultimately said he didn’t feel the same way. I was so focused on finding my sister that I didn’t really give myself much time to dwell on it.”_ _

_ _Jellybean hums, fishing around in her bowl for the last few pieces of cereal. “Archie’s okay, I guess.”_ _

_ _To Betty’s right, Jughead makes a noise that’s a mix between a snort and a chuckle, sounding both amused and incredulous. “Says the girl who was _way_ too excited to hear that Archie ‘dated Hiram’s daughter,’ past tense.”_ _

_ _“Shut up,” Jellybean retorts, making a face that’s not quite a scowl. _ _

_ _“No way.” His mouth quirks up on both sides; the Jughead Jones equivalent of a shit-eating grin. “It’s been way too long since I was able to tease my little sister. I’m making up for lost time.”_ _

_ _Jellybean groans, sticking out her tongue in retaliation. “You're the worst.”_ _

_ _Betty sits back in her chair, thoroughly enjoying the sibling banter she so desperately wishes she had with Polly or Charles. She tries not to be jealous—she’s really happy for Jughead, knowing that he missed his sister a lot more than he ever admitted—but she can’t help but notice that everything seems to have a negative aspect nowadays. She can never escape from the slimy underbelly of Riverdale, no matter what she does. _ _

_ _To distract herself from the unwelcoming thoughts, she peers over at her boyfriend, losing herself in his sleek black locks and the little beauty marks adorning his face. Her eyes fall to his breakfast and she realizes he doesn’t have one—he’d sat down next to her upon walking into the dining room, not even stopping in the kitchen for something to eat. She feels his gaze on her and she meets it, frowning worriedly as she asks, “Are you not hungry?” After all, it’s unlike Jughead not to be. _ _

_ _“Oh, I am,” he assures her. “But I was thinking we could stop at Pop’s for breakfast today, get you a little something special before we have to be at the courthouse.”_ _

_ _Betty grins lovingly at him, the warmth from her cheeks spreading all the way down to her toes. (She’s already eaten, and doesn’t think that she could force down anything more, but that’s besides the point.) “Thank you, Jug,” she murmurs, resting a hand on his thigh as she leans over to press her lips to his lightly. There’s a smile in his eyes when she pulls away. _ _

_ _“But seriously, Betts, I’m hungry,” he says after a beat, standing up and pulling her with him. “Let’s go.” _ _

_ _She huffs, more amused than annoyed. “Jeez, Mr. Impatient.” She pushes their chairs in, straightening up the dining room out of habit. “You still need to get dressed, anyway. Then we can get food.”_ _

_ _He’s back downstairs in record time. _ _

_ _-_ _

_ _The bell jingles over Betty’s head and Veronica Lodge whips around in her barstool, a wide grin on her face. “B! You made it!” She hops up off the seat to grasp Betty’s hands in hers, smiling excitedly. Archie’s next to her, fond amusement plastered across his features. “Let’s go sit down.”_ _

_ _Betty’s mouth is hanging open in a question, but Veronica drags her over to their regular booth before she can utter a word, Jughead and Archie following. Betty slides in across from her best friend, ducking under the arm Jughead throws across her shoulders to press against his side. “What…how did you know we were going to be here?”_ _

_ _Veronica’s grin says it all. “Surprise! The three of us planned this,” she tells Betty, nodding at the two boys. “We wanted to treat you to Pop’s for some encouragement and good juju before we hear from the jury.”_ _

_ _She smiles warmly at her best friends, biting her lip as warmth floods over her. “This is really nice, you guys.” She bumps her shoulder against Jughead’s side playfully, grinning. “My three favorite people.”_ _

_ _Jughead snorts. “What?” Betty asks incredulously, left eyebrow raised. _ _

_ _He shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s just that…_favorite_ seems like a strong word. Personally, I’d say you three are the people I hate least in this world.” He cocks his head, pretending to think. The little smirk on his lips is dangerous. “Actually, maybe just you and Archie.”_ _

_ _Veronica scoffs. “Wow. Love you too, Jug.”_ _

_ _“You’re welcome,” he deadpans. Betty and Veronica both roll their eyes at that, but exchange a look of amusement a beat later. _ _

_ _Betty turns back to her boyfriend, pecking his cheek quickly before leaning forward, palms flat on the table. “Okay, let’s get Jug some food before his sarcasm levels hit the roof. Also, I’m really craving a milkshake right now.”_ _

_ _“You’re having cravings?” Veronica arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Is there something you haven’t told us, Betty?”_ _

_ _“Wow, real mature, Veronica,” Betty retorts. Apparently the Cooper women’s high fertility levels is a long-running joke. “Did you get possessed by Kevin or something?”_ _

_ _Veronica’s smile is saccharine-sweet. “Nope. Just making sure there aren’t any _happy little accidents_ over in Bughead-ville.”_ _

_ _“We know how to have safe sex, thank you very much,” Jughead cuts in. Archie makes a face, obviously very uncomfortable with the current topic of conversation. (Betty doesn’t blame him. She doesn’t like thinking about things _her_ best friends do behind closed doors either.) “Now seriously, I’m hungry. It’s ten in the morning and I haven’t had a single thing to eat all day. This is outrageous.”_ _

_ _“You _sure_ you haven’t had anything to eat today?” is Veronica’s reply, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “You and Betty didn’t—”_ _

_ _“Oh my God,” Betty interrupts, a flush traveling up her neck. “Okay. Kevin _definitely_ body-snatched you.”_ _

_ _“Ronnie’s right, though,” Jughead muses, laughing when Betty gasps and smacks his arm. Archie looks about as scandalized as she feels. _ _

_ _“You guys are all so dirty,” she complains, fake-glaring as she slumps back against her boyfriend’s side. _ _

_ _“I didn’t do anything!” Archie splutters. “I’m just as uncomfortable as you are.”_ _

_ _“Betty’s just pretending, though,” Jughead informs him. “I talk dirty to her all the time and she—”_ _

_ _“_Oh my God_,” Betty groans. Cheeks burning, she tucks her face into Jughead’s neck. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” _ _

_ _Jughead chuckles. “I love you, Betty,” he says, and there’s not a hint of teasing in his tone. _ _

_ _She lifts her head and meets his eyes, mouth curling at his affectionate gaze. “I love you too.” She threads her fingers through his, fighting a grin as she returns her gaze to Jughead and deadpans, “Now get me a milkshake.”_ _

_ _(Veronica’s burst of laughter and Jughead’s shocked expression were worth it.)_ _

_ _They don’t have long until they hear from the jury, so after Betty’s finished up her milkshake and Jughead’s wolfed down an insane number of burgers, Betty drives her friends over to the courthouse. Cheryl, Toni, Kevin, and Ms. Robertson are all already there, and according to Cheryl they’ve been waiting for the four friends “an absurd amount of time, really.” Betty barely hears her cousin’s comment, suddenly overwhelmed by how supportive her friends are. They’ve all put so much time and energy into helping her prepare for the trial and keeping her sane while waiting for the deliberation to be over. (Jughead especially. Betty knows it can’t be easy to have to deal with all of her irrational panicking and hyperactive brain, and she’s forever thankful for how much he loves and supports her.) _ _

_ _She’s tearing up before she even realizes it, and when Cheryl frowns worriedly and apologizes for her comment, thinking that it’s the reason for Betty's tears, Betty merely shakes her head with a watery laugh. “I’m just really grateful for you guys,” she says, a little embarrassed that she’s so overwhelmed that she’s crying—of happiness, mind you. _ _

_ _“We’re grateful for _you_, Betty,” Veronica professes, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “You’re incredible, and I love you. We all do.”_ _

_ _“_Stop_,” Betty laughs, swiping at her cheeks. “Are you _trying_ to make me cry?”_ _

_ _“Maybe,” Veronica sing-songs, and a laugh bubbles up in Betty’s throat, but it gets caught when the door to the courtroom opens and the woman from before calls her name. _ _

_ _“Are you ready?” Jughead murmurs, slipping his hand into hers and squeezing tightly. The words ring in Betty’s ears. _Are you ready?_ Is she? Is she ready for what comes next?_ _

_ _Breath caught in her throat, Betty’s eyes jump around the room, lingering on each person. Veronica, Archie, Cheryl, Toni, Kevin—they’re all here for her. They’ve worked tirelessly, helping her develop her statements and supplying ideas when she runs out. And now they’re here to sit silently behind her as the judge reads out Edgar Evernever’s fate, forming the foundation of which she’s built everything that she is off of. And Jughead—Jughead is here, the man who holds her through her tears and who kisses her until the pain is nothing but a distant memory. Jughead, who makes her stronger, who’s the reason that she now knows the answer to his question is _yes_. _ _

_ _Betty’s hands fly up to her ponytail to tighten it, readying herself, and she takes a step into the room. A step toward her fate, her destiny. Toward the future and everything that comes after. _ _

_ _Whatever comes next, she’s ready._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand that’s a wrap! If this was canon, that last scene would be the equivalent of the end-of-episode cliffhanger. Hope you aren’t too disappointed that I didn’t continue. I just felt like it was a good place to stop and leave it open-ended. Up for interpretation. Whatever you want to call it. 
> 
> I didn’t want to let Polly completely off the hook for all of those terrible things she did to Betty, but at the same time, I miss s1-s2 era Polly and felt like I needed to show that she’s still in there. Same with Kevin—I adore him and I hate the way that season 3 did him dirty. 
> 
> Also, who wants a Betty-Jellybean friendship? I sure do. That’s why I included it in this story. Those two NEED to bond in season 4 or I’m rioting. Feel free to join me. :)
> 
> And BUGHEAD MY BABIES!!! I'm kind of in love with this part in terms of the Bughead content. Maybe that's because this fic is literally just what I want to see in the show. Hopefully we get some good stuff like this.
> 
> I hope you liked this story! I worked super hard on it for several months, and I can only hope it receives the love I think it deserves. :) As always, don't forget to tell me your thoughts in the comments below. I read and respond to each and every comment, so don't be shy!
> 
> Ta-ta for now, my darlings! See you soon (hopefully lol, I've got some works sitting on the back burner awaiting my full attention)! Mwah xo

**Author's Note:**

> Ooh, don’t you just love cliffhangers? Don’t they make you want to read on, flip to the next chapter—oh wait, you can’t. Yikes. 
> 
> I know, I’m so evil. >:^) I’m evil but I love you guys so I’m posting part two VERY soon. I haven’t decided when yet, but I promise it’ll be within the next few days. 
> 
> So how’d you like the first part? What do you think Polly’s reaction is going to be? Is she going to be magically cured from the Farm’s influence, or is it going to be a little bit more complicated than that...?
> 
> I hope I did all the characters justice, especially since this is my first time writing a lot of them. I’m a hardcore Bughead fan, so I write them a lot more frequently than anyone else. But aren’t they seriously the cutest? Both in the show and in this fic. I like me some Bughead lovin’, if you couldn’t tell. :)
> 
> I started writing this before we heard anything about season 4, so there are a couple of key aspects that come entirely from my own head. Just picture this as a canon-adjacent sort of thing. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, my darlings! It means so so much, you have no idea. And stay tuned for part two! xo


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